The Song of the Mockingbird

Not all great composers are human. In fact, very few are. The most renowned of composers in my world are birds, like me. Ever since I was a little chick and then a fledgling, I always had a knack for music. I could imitate many sounds, like the call of a mourning dove or a blackbird or a car alarm. I consider everything I heard as music, and to me, no sound is dissonant.

One day, there was a very long rain. The kind of rain that seems to never end, and when it ends it seems as if it was never there. A rainbow glowed over the misty sky, and all of nature seemed to be coming out from a hiding place to glimpse the sun. I perched on the highest branch of the highest tree, overlooking a little yellow house. My wet feathers glistened in the sun, and I sang.

I sang little series of chirps and twitter-tweets. My music seemed to glide through the air. I sang about joy and sadness, death and life. Suddenly my song was interrupted.

I looked down and saw that there was a human girl standing on the wet grass.

“Tweet tweet! Chee-irp!” she called back at me, imitating my song.

At first, I panicked. Should I fly away? But the girl did not seem like a threat.

“Chirp chirp chirp, tweet tweet! Chirp chirp chirp, tweet tweet!” I sang back. The girl repeated my song and laughed. I sang back, and so did she.

Then she ran inside of the house. Soon she emerged with a long shiny stick. At first, I was confused. What would she do with this strange object? She brought it to her mouth. Her fingers seemed to dance along little holes on the surface. I was in awe of the beautiful music she was making. The lighthearted melody seemed to drift through the moist air like a breeze. It was unlike anything I had ever heard. Each note seemed to tell a story.

I whistled back, imitating the beautiful sound of her strange instrument. When she left I flew away, but I will always remember her song and the day that I met a fellow composer.