DAWN WOLF

My Uncle Bill was afraid of bird song at night. There was one bird who sang 13 notes or 9, or 6 notes that I heard as songs every night. I called the bird, 13 voices.  Uncle Bill was not amused, or impressed with what he thought was my cavalier attitude. He said, bird song, the bird, any bird singing at night brings death to a neighbor! A few weeks later our next door neighbor died mysteriously and suddenly. Uncle Bill felt I had something to do with it. Feeling triumphant about his foreboding he spoke seldom a word to me the next few days before her funeral.

The bird paused in its ritual for a few nights. 

I couldn't shake the feeling of freedom, of being freed by the bird's song. The bird always sat in the tree outside my window singing alone into the night, or to others of his clan distant or near the house. One night I recorded his singing and played it back to her outside my window. She startled. Her vocal rhythm changed a bit. She was quick to regain her voice to play, and puzzle with the recording's inability to change patterns. The fun of it fell away when the bird spoke to me about a hint within her spirit of being deceived. I felt bad, so I stopped that game.

For years I listened to these birds singing day or night, and heard more of life in each note. Eventually, I learned to lace their sounds into series, and the series spoke of gaiety, the motions of vibrant energies, and resilience  Often times the birds would give glimpses into their childhoods, or laugh at an upcoming danger heading my way in the forests I hunted solitude. Is there a story about these night birds? Yes, the stories live within the perception of the wise, the fearful, the curious and the playful spirits absorbing sound into their body awareness. 

One warm sunny afternoon birds swooped down barely missing my head making a cacophony of sound their languages one different from the other. Warning me of imminent danger they circulated the sound of and the image of three dogs tracking me through the forest. Squirrels got excited and and joined the birds hurrying me along a winding path and up into a knotted and crooked tree to wait. Each clan gave the same story. I pictured the dogs, and could gauge their proximity to my tree with deadly accuracy. Barefoot, my sandals secured in a nook of the old tree, I found a comfortable spot to rest, sleep if necessary, and waited. Machete in hand I relaxed slowly merging into the tree. The birds stopped their telling, and sat in adjacent trees to watch. Then I noticed 13 voices amongst the tellers. We nodded our recognition of each other. The dogs came. They were consumed with the darkness of their intent to tear me apart. By the time they arrived and picked up my spirit I'd merged into the tree, and the forest shielded me. From above I watched the dogs near my tree their noses full of my scent. Puzzled by the end of my trail they left another route away from my tree. 

I sat for a good while, grateful and satisfied in the tree. I left an offering of thanksgiving to all and returned another way home through the forest. Each bird found a song to sing me away from the hunting dogs. I promised myself I'd keep their stories within me. After all, these were amongst the birds who named me Dawn Wolf a few years before. - Gregory E. Woods, Keeper of Stories 1/7/14