The Bird with Gilded Wings

       There was once a newborn bird who was white – pure white, yet to be painted with the many colors of this world. She was birthed in a charming wood with trees that whispered of ancient histories and fireflies that danced on a summer night. At each passing year on her birthday, she would dream of faraway lands – cities made of gold and silver, ornate riches and spices, and all different kinds of species she had yet to encounter in her home. Her onyx eyes danced with images of these places and creatures – her spirit yearning to leave the wood one day and begin anew.

As such, she was dedicated to learning how to fly. Interestingly enough, not many other birds in the forest were. She was always reminded of this at social gatherings when none of the others even mentioned flying. Despite this, the young bird was curious enough to follow that burning in her heart - the fierce tug of an invisible hand – to learn how to fly. So she took it upon herself to jump from many branches and fence posts – sometimes failing miserably in the process and prompting injury. But somewhere along the lines after many years, the birds’ wings grew strong. And one summer morning, with the sun streaming through the thick canopy in a large oak, the bird jumped one last time from its nest and flew.

Guarded only with the invisible compass living inside of her as a guide, the bird travelled as far West and as far East on the map that one could go. She saw many gleaming, fascinating cities – cities of Angels and Dreams. She met many kinds of animals – some who befriended her and some who hunted her. She was taught how to dance under a starry sky and run with the dawn. And throughout it all, her path was uncertain and sometimes dangerous. But it was also alive – so very alive with the beating heart of adventure. And it was in the chaos and the joy and the fear and the love that the bird began to sprout colors on its white feathers. 

Some were deep shades of black and purple, symbolizing dark emotions and pain endured over the years. But others were shades of light pinks and bloodred oranges and periwinkle blues like a sun-streaked sky right before nightfall. The colors would change and evolve, mixing shades of dark and light. Pain and joy. Imperfectly perfect.  

Others would look upon in awe because they had never seen anything like it. Other animals seemed to even flock to her at times, their eyes radiating with a desire to share in the colorful dance of life this bird seemed to know the hymn to so well. And the bird was delighted to share the music, so much so that she even taught others how to fly. The bird lived like this for a few years, truly happy and riding the high of all the life she had soaked up from her very first flight. Until one day the world collapsed upon itself. 

A grave sickness suddenly fell upon the Earth, with every land affected by its wrath. No one knew where it had come from or how to protect themselves. Death threatened at every household, and as a result fear crept its smoky tendrils into hearts. Rulers in positions of power took it upon themselves to close borders to every territory, barricading their people and animals inside so as not to let the plague spread. And so the colorful bird was caged by these invisible borders built by treaties, no longer able to fly freely.

The bird’s particular place of resting at these time of events – the city of Angels – had once been so full of the essence of life. Now all she could do was helplessly watch, slowly, as each glistening beach of diamond-crusted sand and turquoise green waters wilted away into blandness. Beggars became more frequent, enough so that there were tents lining street after street near her nest which posed a threat every time she went outside. Fires more frequently burned in the forests North of where she lived and an eerie feeling soon sank its claws into every crack and crevice of the Earth. The bird stayed for two years in the hopes the city would once again return to normal and desperately yearned for the music of life to play again. But it never came, and the bird – without anyone left to dance with – soon became very lonely and fearful. It was then that the colors started to fade from her coat.  

In a last attempt to save herself, the bird struck a deal with an extremely powerful merchant. Prince of Merchants was what he was known as from sea to sea, as his wealth and influence spanned across regions. The Prince offered the bird a chance to fly again once the sickness had run its course through the lands, as well as gold, in exchange for her work. Thinking it a good idea at the time, the bird hastily accepted the Prince’s offer and hoped for a better, safer future. She at least saw it as a chance to escape the hellhole of the land she had once called home.

In five years under the Prince of Merchants, the bird had received many praises and gold – doubling the amount she had made from the first year she started working. The Prince was thrilled with her progress and continued to promote her through the ranks. But the work was tedious and grueling in an ivory tower, with many politics and other birds to appease. Too much was thrust upon her and she had to learn many tricks in order to survive this strange place of power and greed. She rarely had a say in how long she worked or what she worked on. And as a result, the bird became bitter and restless, remembering the promise of flight the Prince had once mentioned to her.

What she hadn’t realized is that her coat – once so colorful and resemblant of the many emotions she had experienced in her explorations – had turned pure white again. The emotions and feelings soon left her body, until there was nothing left but a dull ache of what used to be. Her onyx eyes lost their gleam, and the weight on her wings began to grow. Despite this, the Prince of Merchants continued to throw gold upon her for her good work in the ivory tower. Eventually, she even began sleeping in the tower because she didn’t have any other place to go.

One crisp morning upon waking, the bird had finally decided that enough was enough and went to speak to the Prince about the promise. Upon explaining herself, the Prince sneered as a shadow crossed his eyes. “You are free to leave this tower,” the Prince cooed. “I have many who could replace you.” And the bird believed it to be true, because there were many who would love to be in her position here with the belief that enough gold could grant them freedom.

When the discussion with the Prince concluded, the bird looked down from the highest window in the ivory tower. The sun was such that she could see her reflection in the smooth glass. As she drew her wings toward the sky, she noticed gold lined the tips and rims of her feathers. Confused and alarmed, thinking it could be a trick of the shadows, she examined more closely. Fear gripped her heart as she realized the gold was there, unmoving. 

‘How did I not notice the weight of it?’ she thought, dread filling the pit in her stomach. ‘The Prince’s gold must have clung to my wings over the years.’

And so it had – the more gold the Prince threw at the bird, the more it had slowly become engraved upon her wings. The weight was now unbearable as the bird began to silently cry at the understanding that she could not leave the ivory tower from flying. It pained her immensely that she had turned into a bird like all the others – pure white, with gilded wings made of gold. Beautiful and enchanting, but oh so sad, and lonely, and terribly dull with the ache of nothingness. Pure nothingness where she had once felt such life. 

After a few moments, the bird determined she would still escape the ivory tower in whatever means she had to. So she trudged down 10,000 steps in a narrow, twisting staircase to the very bottom, panting heavily and legs tired as she walked through the wide door into the sunlight. 

On the ground and without a nest, she was prone to predators and could easily be trampled by larger creatures. She was tempted to return inside the ivory tower – to a safe haven she had once accepted from the Prince of Merchants at the expense of her freedom. But something inside of her felt a tug on an invisible thread – that same thread she had felt all those years ago to jump from her nest in the wood and fly from the great lands to the West and the East. She had never really known or questioned where the pulling came from, and only could hope it would lead her in the right direction again.

Without any clue where she was headed or what path lay before her – the bird took its first steps, small as they may be, upon the Earth once more. Slowly, ever so slowly, the young bird sprouted a gleaming, bloodred feather signaling resilience. And as the sun began to streak across the sky in a kaleidoscope of colors and warm everything in sight like a soft blanket, gold began to wash away from the bird’s wings until she reached the edge of a ravine. 

Faced with the decision to either try to fly or turn back around, the bird surprisingly decided to take a chance after all these years. Spreading her dainty white wings, with the stripe of red running down her delicate spine, she let the careful breeze thrust her into the wind and into a new world she had yet to discover. She would rather drown than give up her freedom.

But the wind did not faulter, and her wings did not fail her, as she gloriously became aware that the gold had vanished from her feathers. As her wings beat stronger with every gust of wind, she once more sailed into the horizon toward the pulling on her heart. In that moment, she made a vow to never again sacrifice her freedom for the sake of safety in an ivory tower. For an adventure – a life – worth living, is one within our grasp. As colorful as it may be with darks mixing with lights and emotional turmoils mixing with joy, the dance of life and the ability to fly are priceless treasures worth more than gilded wings.