Hello out there! My recovery from foot surgery is going well. I’ve spent some of the “couch time” making little colored pencil drawings. Shortly after I finished them (and like so many things in my world), they began to talk to me. This one told me a tale:
Hai and the Big Blue Birds
Hai grew up hearing wondrous stories about the land of the big blue birds. He never tired of his grandparents telling him and his sister about the lush, fertile landscape that bloomed to the east, ringed with majestic mountains.
“The birds are as big as two men’s heads and their song is like a mandolin,” Grandpa said.
“Their feathers are blue as the waters of Pearl River where it meets the South China sea,” Grandma added, smiling. Always smiling.
Hai was a studious boy who completed his lessons and did his assigned chores on time. Sometimes he even did his sister Jumei’s chores when she wanted to practice her musical scales or participate in the neighborhood folk dances. He imagined he’d graduate school with honors and then continue his studies, perhaps as a doctor. He also never stopped thinking about the land of big blue birds. It seemed a mystical place, even sacred. He never spoke of this with his friends as it felt like a special secret that only his family knew. Someday I’ll go there, he’d tell himself.
Hai’s grandfather passed away before he completed his studies. His grandmother moved in with the family as her health began to fail. One day, Hai asked her to tell him stories about the land of the big blue birds.
“Silly boy!”she chided. “You are too old for tall tales now. You must know the land of big blue birds is not a real place.” Hai was crushed! It had never occurred to him the stories were just made up to entertain children. Grandma turned away, but not before Bai caught a sly smile on her weathered face.
Bai went on to graduate school with honors and then took additional classes to become an optometrist. After he completed his courses, he found work at an optometry practice in the town next to where he grew up. Sharing an apartment with three roommates, he had enough money at the end of each month to give some to his parents. He fitted his old neighbors and his father with glasses. When his dear Grandma passed away, he moved back to the family home to help his parents, who were now old themselves.
As Hai’s own vision began to weaken while reading, he knew he would benefit from glasses, too. He worked out the right prescription and chose some thin gray wire frames in an oval shape. The first time he slipped them on, he felt dizzy. Hai knew this is could be a natural reaction to trying the glasses as the brain recalibrates visual input and the vestibular system works to get used to this. The first morning he took the specs off after a short trial. He had work to do, after all, and his clients relied on him for accuracy. He’d get used to the glasses in time.
Alone in his room that night, Hai slipped on his new glasses once again and grabbed the book he’d been reading in short spurts for months. As he settled in to the easy chair in the corner, he felt his body begin to waver, almost like he was made of vapor and a wind was coming through to blow him into a different shape. He shook his head, hoping to clear his vision and regain equilibrium, but the feeling persisted. Hai closed his eyes and took three deep breaths, a technique he used to work though anxiety. His limbs began to warm, and unusual music filled his ears. When he opened his eyes again, he found himself sitting under a large tree. The trunk felt solid on his back as he rested against it.
The sounds grew fuller—single notes followed by vibrato that reached someplace deep inside him. To the east he saw meadow and rolling hills, rich with many shades of green. In the distance, purple and blue mountains peaked against a morning sky. A rustle of feathers caught his attention— he lifted his eyes to see a huge sapphire bird lift off from what must have been a branch above his head. Hai’s heart overflowed with a joy he hadn’t felt since boyhood. His body was enveloped in what he could only compare to a loving hug. Is this the afterlife? He wondered if he’d passed away, or perhaps it was an amazing dream.
Bai stayed under the tree, listening to the beautiful song. Lifting a hand to his face, he noticed the wire-rimmed glasses were not there. He watched the winged visitor for a long time. It felt like months—years even—but he woke in his bed the next morning just before his alarm would have gone off, feeling clear and rested. He saw his glasses on the night table next to the bed. It was then he recalled the images, the scents and sounds of a most glorious dream! Hai smiled as he pulled on his slippers and headed to the shower.
He dressed for work and looked over his schedule for the day. Slipping the glasses on, he felt the odd, off-kilter sensation in his torso. He quickly set them aside and vowed to try wearing them on the weekend when he had no work in the office.
Saturday came and Hai raked the yard and went grocery shopping. When evening approached he helped his mother prepare supper. During the week he often grabbed fast food at the office, and at home they had seaweed salad and simple noodle soup. On weekends, Hai’s mother cooked old-style foods with recipes passed down from her grandparents and their parents before them. Hai watched her deftly turn out succulent shrimp shumai and tender vegetable dumplings drizzled with fish sauce. The formulas and measurements lived in her head and she’d resisted writing them down for him. He made a mental note to ask her again, as he imagined himself carrying on the traditions when his mother could no longer do so. Hai made small dishes of green edamame for each of them as they sat to eat.
After the dishes were washed and put away, he took a walk around the neighborhood. Feeling the fatigue of a particularly busy week, he retired to his room to spend time with his book before bed.
The metal-rimmed glasses sat amicably on the bedside table. Hai picked them up, silently apologizing to them for not using the day to help his eyes adapt to the prescription. He slipped them on and opened his book to read.
All at once the odd feeling overtook him. The room seemed to shift. He felt his body getting lighter, less solid. The floor and walls fell away as an odd breeze swept right through his chest. He shivered, closing his eyes against the unsettling sensations.
When he lifted his lids again he found himself under an old, strong tree. His fingers went to the bridge of his nose. The glasses were nowhere to be found. Around him, grasslands dotted with cheerful flowers rolled to the feet of a mountain range in the distance. Pieces of last night’s dream flitted through his brain. He’d been to this place before!
A huge bird wrapped in azure feathers swooped from behind the tree and glided above him. As the winged visitor circled, exquisite fragments of song seemed to float in the warming air. The sun was rising as Hai contemplated the scene. He laughed as he recognized where he was. It was the land of the big blue birds!
“Hello,” Hai whispered as a second bird seemed to be flying slowly down towards him. He stretched out his hand and the gorgeous creature landed on his palm and looked at him expectantly. “ Oh, I’ve nothing for you this time. Tomorrow I’ll be sure to bring something,” he murmured.
And so it was that Hai began carefully stuffing his pockets with nuts and seeds every night before he slipped on the spectacles that he’d come to know as magical. His nocturnal commute deposited him under the big tree each time. He made friends with many of the hungry and grateful winged beings. In time he even learned to sing with them, his deep voice mingling with their soulful calls. Sometimes he thought he saw his old Grandma walking in the flowering meadows there, smiling. He awoke each morning feeling rested and happy.
Hai met and married a clever and caring partner. They bought a small house quite close to his childhood home and had two beautiful children. His old parents visited often, especially on weekends when Hai would cook wonderful old-time foods. One day, he heard his father with the children in the next room.
“There are birds big as the heads of two men. Their song is sweet like a mandolin,”
His mother then chimed in. “They have feathers bluer than the sky, blue as Pearl River where it meets the South China sea.”
The End
Another Drawing Talks to Me