I crawled along a dry river bed. People whizzed by along the cliffs above. But I had fallen into this crevice. I could not escape. My knees were bruised from the fall, and my head spun with fog.
I looked up, but no one heard my fall. My arms grew heavier than my tongue, which puffed with my breathing. My mind had shut and only my hands could move. They clawed and pulled.
A bird called from above, and I looked up at him. His body was light, his song simple. He made me look away from my attempts to escape. All I could do was listen. And a piece of his song slipped into my mind. The lightness cooled my fever and opened my eyes.
Then I saw a vine, his vine. Somehow it must be the bird’s vine. I pulled myself to it. It was succulent, and it broke open and the juices dripped on my cracked skin.
I noticed a footpath. I straightened and stumbled towards it and started to climb.
When I reached the top, I saw the people again. But they were obsessed and scurrying about. Even as I looked, one fell into the abyss. He floundered but didn’t look up. I knew he needed the bird song, so I turned to climb down after him.
As I descended, I wondered where I could find another song, for I could not find the bird.
When I found the man, I shook him. But the fall had blinded him, and he could not understand. So I sang the same song to him. I was afraid, so I sang softly, and he did not hear. He continued to wallow so I remembered the
bird song and sang louder. The man stopped thrashing and lay still. Slowly he dragged himself to me and clung to my leg. He pulled himself up as I tugged on him too. His eyes opened and he smiled at me.
We climbed the path and together we sang. But when we reached the top, our songs melted to tears, because the people, so consumed, had lost their smiles. So we sang to them.
But having never grieved for the valley, they could not taste the joy of the song.
And so we sang alone.