Birds of a Feather
The cabin looked very sparse. That was fine thought Shane Sheldrake. After all, he had come to the Himalayas for a weeklong silent meditation retreat and there should be as few distractions as possible. No cell phones, radios, TVs, or any other creature comforts from home. The point was to spend the week in solitude and meditate. He would speak only in an emergency and eat as little as possible and drink only tea. He stretched out on the hard bed and looked out the tiny window to the left. The scenery was dominated by a picturesque, snowcapped mountain in the foreground. He was immediately taken by the thought of climbing it and meditating at the top. He would have a beautiful view of the valley below now lush with grass in the midst of Spring. The next morning, at the crack of dawn, Shane set out with only a light jacket, a bottle of water, and two power bars. It was a mild day and he would be back in time for dinner he figured. No need to be burdened down with anything more than the most basic necessities.
Shane found a path that led up the mountainside. It wasn’t too steep and he made easy strides towards the top for the first few hours. It was difficult to tell how far he was from the top, but he figured he must be about halfway. At this point however he encountered an obstacle. Up to now there was a clear path with the brush cleared away. This was probably a trail cleared by previous climbers he figured. But now his path was blocked by rocks and a thick underbrush. Shane decided to move in a horizontal direction around the mountain in search of a better path. He found one that seemed barely passible, but he would have to zig zag a lot to follow it. He continued until the sun was low in the sky indicating it was well into afternoon. After finding an edge to rest and seeing the sweeping panorama below, he was seized by a frightening thought that didn’t occur to him before. He was so engrossed in the task of climbing the mountain, he gave no though as to how he would get down. He had made so many twists and turns, he had no idea how to retrace his steps. The position of the sun indicated that it would only be light for a couple of more hours. He had been climbing all day; no way he would get down by sundown and his trek would be complicated by the pitch darkness. The clouds that were beginning to thicken and envelop the sky assured there would be little starlight. The nearest city was miles away so there would be no artificial light. It was a huge mistake to have only a light jacked as the temperature would plummet at night. Plus, he had only enough food and water for only one day. No one would even come looking for him as he told no one of his plans.
Shane frantically started searching for a path, his heart in his mouth. Then he thought he heard a voice saying “Are you lost?” But he could see no one near him and wondered if he was imagining it. Maybe the thin air was causing hallucinations? But then he heard it again, louder and clearer this time. He looked at where the sound seemed to emanate, but the only living thing he could see is a bird perched on a tree branch. “Are you talking to me,” Shane said. The bird, medium sized and silver and black feathered of undetermined species, turned his head to the left and then to the right. “Do you see anyone ese here?”, he said. Shane was sure he was going insane now. “Birds can’t talk,” he thundered. “This can’t be!” “The hell we can’t,” replied the bird. “We choose not to talk to humans. Your species is so primitive. You are always chopping down the trees that are our habitat, and try to pathetically imitate us by putting these huge hunks of metal in the air which keep on crashing. Face it, your species is too primitive to be able to fly like us. Whenever it rains or snows, your machines are grounded. Our coats are weather proofed. You will never see a bird snowed in at an airport. The migratory birds of our species can fly thousands of miles in perfect formation to their destinations. You guys need a GPS to cross the street. The swallows know just when to return to Capistrano without the benefit of a calendar. I would like to see your species do that.”
“But if you guys can talk, why do we never hear you talk to each other?”, asked Shane. “We do talk to each other. What you guys call “chirping” is actually an intricate language that would put your human languages to shame”, said the bird.
“Do you have a name?”
“We have no need for names. But if you need one, make it up.”
“OK, I’ll call you Polly. Polly, I’m lost and need your help or I will freeze or die of thirst. I imagine having a bird's eye view of this mountain, you can show me the way down. Can you slowly fly down at a low altitude so I can follow you?”
“Yes, I will do that for only one reason. If you die up here, the vultures will swoop down and devour your corpse. I really don’t like vultures. They are a very rude, aggressive lot. Not at all refined like us finches. Once vultures invade the neighborhood, they are very hard to get rid of. I’ll take you only part of the way down. I don’t like low altitudes. I’m used to the thin air up here. I know a crow about half way down who will take you the rest of the way.”
“I’m very grateful for your help.”
With that, Polly slowly made its way down the mountain, flying just above Shane’s head. When Shane stumbled or needed to rest, Polly flew in a circle just above head. After several hours, Polly perched on a branch and chirped to a black crow on a nearby branch. “The crow said he will take you the rest the way down. He’s a very good navigator but it will be difficult to see him at night. Don’t worry though, he will keep squawking all the way down so you should be able to follow the sound. Good luck.”
“Thank you so much,” Shane shouted back as he had to trot to keep up with the crow. When he got back to the cabin, Shane had to think about whether he should tell anyone what had happened to him. What good would it do? he thought. No one would believe him. Maybe they would send him to a mental hospital. More than anything, he wanted to google “high altitude hallucinations”, but that would be impossible now as no one had a computer and there was no internet access even if someone did.
One week later, Shane awoke to hear a voice saying “Good morning.” There was no one in his cabin, but he saw a familiar bird on the window sill. “Polly, is that you?” asked Shane. “How did you find me?” Polly shook his head in disbelief. “You humans always amaze me with your stupidity. Don’t you think the crow followed your path home after he led you down the mountain? We birds do talk to each other. I told you I helped you to keep out the vultures. That’s true, but there is another reason. I need a favor,” said Polly.
“I would be glad to help.”
“Remember I told you about humans are destroying our habitat? It’s gotten worse than that. Now you guys are destroying our sacred burial ground. There is a road construction crew 100 yards from here digging it up right now. I need you to stop it.”
“You guys bury your dead? I thought only humans do that.”
“There you go again. We've been doing it since the dinosaurs were around, but we do it in a way you could never understand. It’s not done in the primitive way you do it. I can’t go into details now. You owe me a favor and I need you to stop it.” With that Polly flew off.
Shane searched around the perimeter of the cabins until he found the construction crew. There was a truck digging a trench, and he could see the earth on a pile next to the trench. Shane ran in front of the truck, yelling “Stop, you can’t dig here!” The truck driver stuck his head out the window and said, “Hey, buddy. Better get out of my way if you don’t want to get run over. I’ve got a job to do.” Shane got out of the way as the trucker revved the engine and went around him. Just then Shane became enraged when he saw feathers flying out of the digging bucket as the earth was being lifted off the ground. He charged in front of the truck in an effort to make it stop. The driver slammed on the breaks but it was too late. The truck hit Shane with a thud and knocked him to the ground. “Goddamn crazy guy”, the trucker muttered as he got out to investigate. Instantly thousands of birds flocked around him, perched on tree branches and circling overhead. “This is giving me the creeps,” he thought. "I’d better call for an ambulance and get out of here.” A police car raced to the scene from several miles away. One of the officers found Shane dead from blunt trauma and the construction worker dead with his body riddled with pock marks. “Look at this,” the officer said to his partner. It looks like a million birds pecked at him all over his body. I wonder what caused that”, he said as a lone finch with silver and back feathers circled overhead.
Shane found a path that led up the mountainside. It wasn’t too steep and he made easy strides towards the top for the first few hours. It was difficult to tell how far he was from the top, but he figured he must be about halfway. At this point however he encountered an obstacle. Up to now there was a clear path with the brush cleared away. This was probably a trail cleared by previous climbers he figured. But now his path was blocked by rocks and a thick underbrush. Shane decided to move in a horizontal direction around the mountain in search of a better path. He found one that seemed barely passible, but he would have to zig zag a lot to follow it. He continued until the sun was low in the sky indicating it was well into afternoon. After finding an edge to rest and seeing the sweeping panorama below, he was seized by a frightening thought that didn’t occur to him before. He was so engrossed in the task of climbing the mountain, he gave no though as to how he would get down. He had made so many twists and turns, he had no idea how to retrace his steps. The position of the sun indicated that it would only be light for a couple of more hours. He had been climbing all day; no way he would get down by sundown and his trek would be complicated by the pitch darkness. The clouds that were beginning to thicken and envelop the sky assured there would be little starlight. The nearest city was miles away so there would be no artificial light. It was a huge mistake to have only a light jacked as the temperature would plummet at night. Plus, he had only enough food and water for only one day. No one would even come looking for him as he told no one of his plans.
Shane frantically started searching for a path, his heart in his mouth. Then he thought he heard a voice saying “Are you lost?” But he could see no one near him and wondered if he was imagining it. Maybe the thin air was causing hallucinations? But then he heard it again, louder and clearer this time. He looked at where the sound seemed to emanate, but the only living thing he could see is a bird perched on a tree branch. “Are you talking to me,” Shane said. The bird, medium sized and silver and black feathered of undetermined species, turned his head to the left and then to the right. “Do you see anyone ese here?”, he said. Shane was sure he was going insane now. “Birds can’t talk,” he thundered. “This can’t be!” “The hell we can’t,” replied the bird. “We choose not to talk to humans. Your species is so primitive. You are always chopping down the trees that are our habitat, and try to pathetically imitate us by putting these huge hunks of metal in the air which keep on crashing. Face it, your species is too primitive to be able to fly like us. Whenever it rains or snows, your machines are grounded. Our coats are weather proofed. You will never see a bird snowed in at an airport. The migratory birds of our species can fly thousands of miles in perfect formation to their destinations. You guys need a GPS to cross the street. The swallows know just when to return to Capistrano without the benefit of a calendar. I would like to see your species do that.”
“But if you guys can talk, why do we never hear you talk to each other?”, asked Shane. “We do talk to each other. What you guys call “chirping” is actually an intricate language that would put your human languages to shame”, said the bird.
“Do you have a name?”
“We have no need for names. But if you need one, make it up.”
“OK, I’ll call you Polly. Polly, I’m lost and need your help or I will freeze or die of thirst. I imagine having a bird's eye view of this mountain, you can show me the way down. Can you slowly fly down at a low altitude so I can follow you?”
“Yes, I will do that for only one reason. If you die up here, the vultures will swoop down and devour your corpse. I really don’t like vultures. They are a very rude, aggressive lot. Not at all refined like us finches. Once vultures invade the neighborhood, they are very hard to get rid of. I’ll take you only part of the way down. I don’t like low altitudes. I’m used to the thin air up here. I know a crow about half way down who will take you the rest of the way.”
“I’m very grateful for your help.”
With that, Polly slowly made its way down the mountain, flying just above Shane’s head. When Shane stumbled or needed to rest, Polly flew in a circle just above head. After several hours, Polly perched on a branch and chirped to a black crow on a nearby branch. “The crow said he will take you the rest the way down. He’s a very good navigator but it will be difficult to see him at night. Don’t worry though, he will keep squawking all the way down so you should be able to follow the sound. Good luck.”
“Thank you so much,” Shane shouted back as he had to trot to keep up with the crow. When he got back to the cabin, Shane had to think about whether he should tell anyone what had happened to him. What good would it do? he thought. No one would believe him. Maybe they would send him to a mental hospital. More than anything, he wanted to google “high altitude hallucinations”, but that would be impossible now as no one had a computer and there was no internet access even if someone did.
One week later, Shane awoke to hear a voice saying “Good morning.” There was no one in his cabin, but he saw a familiar bird on the window sill. “Polly, is that you?” asked Shane. “How did you find me?” Polly shook his head in disbelief. “You humans always amaze me with your stupidity. Don’t you think the crow followed your path home after he led you down the mountain? We birds do talk to each other. I told you I helped you to keep out the vultures. That’s true, but there is another reason. I need a favor,” said Polly.
“I would be glad to help.”
“Remember I told you about humans are destroying our habitat? It’s gotten worse than that. Now you guys are destroying our sacred burial ground. There is a road construction crew 100 yards from here digging it up right now. I need you to stop it.”
“You guys bury your dead? I thought only humans do that.”
“There you go again. We've been doing it since the dinosaurs were around, but we do it in a way you could never understand. It’s not done in the primitive way you do it. I can’t go into details now. You owe me a favor and I need you to stop it.” With that Polly flew off.
Shane searched around the perimeter of the cabins until he found the construction crew. There was a truck digging a trench, and he could see the earth on a pile next to the trench. Shane ran in front of the truck, yelling “Stop, you can’t dig here!” The truck driver stuck his head out the window and said, “Hey, buddy. Better get out of my way if you don’t want to get run over. I’ve got a job to do.” Shane got out of the way as the trucker revved the engine and went around him. Just then Shane became enraged when he saw feathers flying out of the digging bucket as the earth was being lifted off the ground. He charged in front of the truck in an effort to make it stop. The driver slammed on the breaks but it was too late. The truck hit Shane with a thud and knocked him to the ground. “Goddamn crazy guy”, the trucker muttered as he got out to investigate. Instantly thousands of birds flocked around him, perched on tree branches and circling overhead. “This is giving me the creeps,” he thought. "I’d better call for an ambulance and get out of here.” A police car raced to the scene from several miles away. One of the officers found Shane dead from blunt trauma and the construction worker dead with his body riddled with pock marks. “Look at this,” the officer said to his partner. It looks like a million birds pecked at him all over his body. I wonder what caused that”, he said as a lone finch with silver and back feathers circled overhead.
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