Evening Flight Part 1 of 3

At this hour of dusk many things can happen. And it can
happen very quickly so look carefully before Day speeds away.
From where I rest I can see right across the abyss that is the
lagoon. Over where the opposite ends of the rock walls eternally stare
at each other are the flying gulls who will scream their lungs out in a
cacophony of shrieks and warbles. These two cliffs have faced each
other since the beginning of time. We call them The Two Brothers.
Those two who have never resolved their quarrel to this day and whose
hands have become homes to our strange community. Here is our
community of birds of unequal feather. And now as Day turns her
back on us again, our community spins into a mad frenzy.



The heavy traffic of birds of unequal feather cross each other’s flight
paths. It is high anxiety, this business of settling in and finding your
rest-place for the night. Unlike the dawn, the night observes a law of
it’s own. It walks into the room of my world like a hasty Father, into
his lounge of squabbling children. He who brings colours of purple,
gold and crimson like a painter and his palette. And in rhythm with
the winds that turn balmy and cool, he splashes the colours into the
once blue sky like a mad artist, splash— purple, splash — gold, splash—
crimson. This is when the screaming dies down and calms into quiet;
while crimson dissipates into the dark, dark velvety violet of night.
The others fuss and fight over the best rest branches. They fly in
broods and rarely have any mind of their own. See how quickly they
become content with whatever little that they have? See how quickly
they come to rest and snap their beak at careless ones who forget their
rightful space? Every family looks over their shoulders and glances at
the young ones. The screaming that has quietened to a murmur now
turns into a sleepy silence.

Silence.

This is my favourite time of the day. I love the quiet. Sometimes it is
so quiet that I can hear them all sleeping. Sometimes all you can hear
are the soft sighs of the wind against your ear. The rest are just the
waves crashing against the rocks so far below us all. Branches of trees
that protrude from the rocky walls rise up and down like a fan, nodding
sideways sometimes. Even the Brothers seem to have made their
peace.

I turn around to see that the community is drunk in slumber.
Children are asleep under their mothers’ breasts. All the world has
lost consciousness, good. I take my deepest breath of the day and dive
off my stoney perch, my eyes closed.