Our story begins with a boy, saying goodbye to his mother by the red brick house, she kisses his head and sends him off out. Her belly, it is churning, and she’s got a knot tied round her heart, to let her precious little one step away from round her skirts. But she’s made sure that he’s warm enough and told when he must be home, and knows this is part of what it takes to be-come grown. So she waves farewell, sings a sweet goodbye, knowing she's packed a lunch for him and sure that he’ll be fine.

 

This lad is not large or small nor short or tall, but somewhere, I suppose, in the middle of it all. Walking through the whetted wicks of grass he was, through the wetted wicks he walked. From the house of deep red brick, he walked, following the calling of a lark. He was searching for a something, with a hankering of a sought. A blue tit tittered out a tune and the dew glistened like a jewel, a soft veil of rain glinted, in the blush of day's first bloom.

 

Deep down in his belly, a little lower-er than that, he felt an aching for this something, but he couldn’t work out what. He tried to do remembering, of times he felt like this before and with a jolt he realised - I’m hungry! That's what this feeling’s for! 

 

So he turned his tale and continued walking, now toward the wild and windy wood, with glint in his eye and desire for something good. He came upon a berry bush just bursting into life, glistening juicy beauties, tempting sweet delights. But when he went to take one, with a swift and hasty pluck, he looked a little closer and realised he was out of luck. For these berries were not ready, need another turn of sun and rain, a season of maturation and of course some growing pains. So with a little sadness, but trusting it was right to do, the boy said thank you to the berries and perhaps I'll see you soon. 

 

The bushes whispered back on the rustle of the breeze - come back a little later, when the autumn harvest produce fruits, they'll be berries who'll be bursting with the juiciest of juice. Ones which will with readiness and the weight of summer gone, fall into the hands of the patient ones.

 

Once more he said his thank yous, still aching for a thing, continuing his searching, now looking for a Spring. Perhaps a little water, he thought unto himself, from deep within the well, will quench this ache and fill my belly to a swell. So he listened for a while for the trinkle of a trail, the giggle of a stream bubbling from the ground's own earthen grail. Soon he heard a titter, followed by a chuckle and tee-hee so he scrambled up the bank to see what he could see. There! He found the water dancing in the light, more alive than anything and glowing with delight. 

 

He lay down on his belly and said a little prayer for all his friends and family, for whom he deeply cares. Then he started thinking of those he does not know, but whom he hopes go happily, wherever it be so. He says a little prayer for them and the water flows and glows, he says some words for it then, this spring inspiring mottos. Letting words run out his mouth, neither fancy nor with flair. He didn’t know how to before, not being taught this way to share. But the spring had sprung something open in him and now they fell into the air. 

 

Then he took a big gulp from the water's shallow gulf, and felt the shiver of the stream slipping down his throat. It was clearer than crystal and colder ice, and the way he felt was really quite nice. His thoughts, they stopped their tussling for attention and great need and he felt that perhaps that hunger he felt was really only greed. Bred from a seed of fear, planted oh so long ago, before he was even born: the need to grow and grow. This capitalistic tendency to consume and reap but not to sew. To take and toil mother nature's soil for the dream of growth and gold. 

 

Filled with more than water he said thank you to the spring, jumping to his feet, to see what wisdom the wood might bring.         

 

He came upon an apple tree, whose roots were wide and deep, branches reaching higher, with big fat rain drops on each and every leaf. He decided to climb into the boughs of soft brown bark and moss, to take a little rest before continuing his task. 

 

Next thing, he was awoken up with a hissing from below, a serpent in the undergrowth was beginning now to grow. Up and up into his bed, his soft and sleepy place whilst he said a silent prayer, as his fear now he faced. His heartbeat quickened. His face felt hot, then cold. He wondered… should he believe the stories he’d been told? The danger of these dark ones, who slip straight out of sight, who'll speak in tongues into your ear of darkness and delight. Who shed their skin and leave who they were to die away, flowing back into the stream like they never even came. 

 

He stuttered out a greeting 'h.. Hi there.. Hello..' as the serpent swayed hypnotically, like the grasses to and fro. The serpent made no greeting, but slunk onto a bough and twisted itself in circles, around around around. At last he heard a hissing, the words quiet, sibilant and slow "questions, questions, questions… I seek the longings of your soul". The boy, a little baffled, let out a stifled laugh. Surely the snake would want much more from him than the secret questions of his heart. The dusk was drawing in though and the day would soon be night and to return back to his home he would have to be forthright. 

 

So he closed his eyes, just like you can here and now. 

 

Dropping a little deeper down to the blood that beats below, listening to that river, the rhythm steady strong and slow. It leads you back into a place which whispers what you know. That one that has been tugging you since oh so long ago, begging for your presence to honour this, your essence, the dream that dreams you into the unknown. The secret you've been longing for…. a sense of belonging or a home that's sure, a world that sings its soul free, a love thats deeper than a lover, a purpose that does not tear the soul asunder. Let yourself drift into YOUR dream, the thing that's most alive in you. 

 

And like an arrow through your fear, find an intention that's so clear that the world can do naught but become the eye of bull. Stretch it out and let it go and from the freedom let a question grow, of what might I need to make it so? 

 

Then came a rustle and some notes on the breeze, as the tune of a goldfinch dripped down the leaves. Tripping and dipping from branch to branch and the boy started to whistle along, for a lark. And soon the tree became a chorus of sound, the setting sun a score for this new song they found. It grew up from a hum they all heard in the ground, can you hear it? The thrum that swirls all around? 

 

Building and building the beautiful song, the notes became a pledge for they're prayers would be strong. Dipping and dancing, uncertain and sure, the light of the goldfinch connected them all. Underneath all their separation, whether wing, tail or claw, they felt their hearts beat in a love that's so pure it transcended their pettiness of my right to your wrong, in recognition of all of their inherent worthiness, their right to belong. In all of their differences, squabbles, squawks they formed a community full of love and support, and sure there were moments when they fell out of tune, when harmony was lost, sometimes too soon. But just for one moment they became a flock and, for the boy, this moment, it meant quite a lot. 

 

So with his new friends he fell asleep in the tree, the serpent curled up like a seashell on his belly. The goldfinch made a nest in his curly black locks and the bugs and trees and the slugs all looked on. With a sigh the last of the day turned to night and stars all started to whisper their dreams into light. Far from the distance, from the house in the north, trudged a woman wrapped in coat and hat to stay warm. She came to the tree where they all softly snored and she scooped all three up, up into her shawl. And she carried them home with its lights just in sight and was glad of the care that she took, in her one precious life.