Before the wind woke, the air was still. He had the stage. I was brewing my coffee when he started to sing, though it was more like a call, “Caw, caw, cacaw, cacaw, caw, caw, cacaw, cacaw.”
He kept repeating it over, and over, and over again. He kept going until his call was answered.
I saw the other crow in a neighboring tree. He repeated him, in his own voice, “Caw, caw, cacaw, cacaw, caw, caw, cacaw, cacaw.”
They went back and forth. The first one sang then the second one chimed in, and a third one, and a fourth, and another bird, not a crow (I knew he was different because he had a deeper tone).
Silence — A pause then the first crow sounded one more time, as the second crow took over and then the other birds sang his song. The other birds had no choice but to hear him. As they sang for him, they woke the wind from her slumber, rustling the leaves as she rose, to carry that crow’s voice away from the branch he called home.
That crow, he didn’t give up. He kept singing until there was an echo, and that echo became the voice, until another echo was heard and then that echo became the voice, until the wind carried the message as far as she could reach. She never gave up because he never gave up — that crow had something to say.
The wind is the messenger — the courier of our hearts. To be heard all we have to do is sing.
So, sing out! Call your call and don’t stop until you hear the echo of gentle breeze upon your cheek.
Be the voice; let others be the echo. ~Rebecca