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The Last Flight of the White Swan

written by T.J. Phoenix

Somewhere in the distance

just outside my reach

the dissidence

before the resonance

Forced to the horizon

a final flight to take

tears in the moonlight

grateful I will not forsake…

“Last night I heard the strangest song,” a young forester began. He had woken from sleep and stepped into the small kitchen he shared with his young wife and child. His wife, Annabel, stood by the small wood stove, cooking grains and fruit for their morning breakfast. His little daughter, Natasha was leaning against her mothers apron strings and peaking out at her father with a big smile.

The forester walked strongly across the worn wood floor. His hands gently brushing the side of Annabel’s face before he brushed her hair to one side, kissing her, ever so softly on the side of the neck.

“I love you completely, dear, dear wife.” He half whispered. His face pulling back ever so slightly. He smiled gently. His wife, slightly taken a back, paused. Natasha leaned out further so that her father could see her face fully now. Her beautiful brown curls, laid softly on her shoulders, her simple blue dress freshly cleaned. Had any man in the world cause for any greater joy then this? He wondered.

“I heard nothing, Edward,” Annabel replied. “Is there more you would like to share?”

He scratched the side of his head, as if thinking deeply. Pausing, he smiled again, this time a special smile, just for his little Natasha. “I will tell you of the song, and more, but you must both make a most solemn promise.”

Natasha stepped away from her mothers side, and took two steps toward her father. She was only a child of five, but her voice had a resonance and clarity to it that told of the presence of something strong within her.

“What sort of promise, father,” she said. “For you know I am a creature of my word.”

“You must promise,” her father began, “not to laugh at me. Or think me mad. For true as the morning air across the moors, I will tell you of the goings on that happened just last night whilst you and your mother slept though you may think when I am finished I have spoken untruthfully.”

“No father.” she said, with slight admonishment in her voice, “You would never do such as that! I know you, like I know mother, and you would never tell me fables and insist they were other. You must believe me that I know this from my own heart.”

“Very well,” her father. Sweeping her up in his right arm and clasping his wife’s hand in his left. “Then you must come and sit by the fire, as I am breathless with anticipation to tell you what has occurred.”

And so the three gathered on the hearthstone in front of a small but insistent flame as her father began to tell them both the tale of the white swans’ last flight.

I awoke last night with a start. My dreams it seemed had been broken by the presence of someone walking near my side. Sitting upright in bed, next to mama, I heard the shutters flapping open in the kitchen. I thought to myself, how strange, as I knew she always tied them back to keep the wind out… and surely we would have noticed sooner, had your mother not done so.

But there it was, that steady sound. For half a moment I wondered if I should be concerned that there were dishonest sorts rummaging through our home, and then I remembered that even mice do not contend for what we have not. So I smiled without worry of anything but the cold as I slipped into my boots and went to close the shutters and put another log on to take the chill from your slumber.

The shutters closed easy enough, but I found that the hair on my skin rose, almost like something was in the air that I could neither see nor explain, but present. I turned to the hearth. Remembering I had used the last of the wood before nightfall, I went to the wood pile to gather more wood. As I stepped from our doorway, the wind pushed up again, unexpectedly cold and hard. I had to fight to close the doorway. As I started to step away from the porch I heard the first sound. It was the soft call of a yellow warbler. It was perched in a nearby tree, shaking, but singing insistently. I thought to myself, that this was indeed a strange night.

“What are you doing awake and in this cold,” I said, to the little one. “You’ll catch your death in this weather.

The little bird seemed to nod at me, and kept on with it’s insistent singing. It was then I realized it was not alone. A group of several water thrushes were just a few trees deeper into the woods. I listened as the strange nights chorus deepened.

My eyes were adapting well to the night, as I moved forward toward the center of the sound. The snow crunching under my feet, seemed to me, to be so loud, I did not understand why they were not taking flight… or why they were all there in that cold, cold darkness.

I passed galleries of songbirds. The tree branches thickening as I went. There were redstarts and golden eyes, terns and even egrets, snow buntings and even the call of crows from high in the darkest part of the wood.

Until finally my eyes came to rest on a white swan sitting beside another... It was clear that one was injured. Now, I know I was not thinking clearly, for nothing in my strange walk had prepared me to think clearly. I had not, for instance, thought to pause and consider that I had walked long without my coat, and had not considered the cold that was now all around me. I did not feel cold, though. I know that must be strange for me to say. I felt only the sounds all around me. It was as if they were singing, calling, to someone who could not answer. I approached the two swans without thought to how my presence would startle them. You and your mother know well my love for helping animals, it is why we came to live in this place before you were born.

Leaning down next to them. I turned to look at the male. He shown in the small glimmers of light that on this moonless night, still found their way through the darkness. I do not speak falsely when I tell you his face was covered in tears. He made not a sound. He only sat there, beside her. His beloved. She had been injured, and had probably fallen from flight. She lay there, motionless, as if dreaming, by his side. It was a dream, I sadly must convey to you, that she will never wake from my beloveds.

And as my own tears, joined his, he looked in my face for a solitary moment, I believe his grief searching for some place past the moment. Still the others continued their song. The whole forest alive in the cold, calling, for something, someone, but I did not know who.

I felt a sudden chill pass through me. …Colder than cold as a wind swept past us both. I turned to look as there was now a growing light in the clearing. At first distant, it moved in a steady path toward us. I began to make out the silvery outline of a woman. A very strange woman, for while she had hands and arms she also had the outline and shape of wings behind her: As she moved toward us, she glided in a shimmering light of silver, gray and the palest cast of blue which reminded me of the softest morning sky.

“You are awake very late,” she said sweetly to me. She stood over us both more than six feet in height. Her frame leaning softly as cascading gowns of what was no more than light within light, moved around her.

“I have come to take her home.” She said. “For she has no more need of this world, and her other life is waiting to begin.”

“You are,” I began. She touched her finger tips softly to my lips, and I was silent. In her touch though, was the feeling I had when first I had awoken in our bed. There was no protest in me, my mind drifted as I watched her… leaning in ever so gently, and wrapping her arms around the fallen swan. She rested her chin against her breast, and sighed ever so softly. A long slow exhale that with it’s movement seemed to stir some last silver strand of living in the bird.

Then she stood, and without so much as a backward glance at me, unfurled her wings which grew into form before then transforming again, into a shapeless light. I watched as her light glimmered and faded. The male swans flight, the last I saw as he took flight and followed the instant she left: Determined to follow his beloved to the horizon and beyond. It was no matter to him and he scarcely heard as those on the ground said their final goodbye.

I lay on the ground for some time, listening as one by one the voices of the other birds departed as well, and I was last alone in the stillness, the cold air moving around me.

And then I slept. It was a warm bright sleep where the woman returned again, and lifting me effortlessly in her arms, carried me back home to you. I dreamt of you two, your smiling faces and our love for one another... and a warm, warm fire… When I awoke I was on this very hearthstone, and the fire was here, though I have no memory of how it came to be. Several logs, as you can both plainly see, were placed here, dry and ready for our use. I do not know how it is I returned. I only know that I have journeyed and heard songs in that journey that healed rather then shattered and filled my heart with love. I am so happy that I am here with you.

“It was the north wind father.” Natasha said, holding my hand. “She came for the swans, and returned you to us as well. We are very fortunate indeed. ”

"Yes", I said, Tears streaming down my face. “Yes, Natasha, we are.”