Maybe It Isn’t Really the Birds…

When the world is quiet, which is most of the times, I can hear footsteps on the rooftop.

— Footsteps? It’s just the birds.

—Birds…yeah the pigeons and the blue jays…that’s right. But what if?

—What if there was someone? Someone trying to get a better view?

—Someone? Now how ridiculous is that part of the story?

—No…really, what if it was a little girl, trying to enjoy a better view of a June morning? That pink boulevard across the elms. I’m sure it’s a little girl because they are very soft footsteps that I hear…

—Oh forget it…you are not a raconteur…not one bit.

—Oh all right then…forget it. But it just makes me think…the sounds on the rooftop. What if…What if the girl could see that beautiful lane, carpeted with mauve flowers …the sky coming down to meet the end of the road…what if she wanted to deny gravity and take to the skies, like an ambitious Icarus?

—Yeah with wax wings…you know, you are so pointless…most of the times.

—No please, let me complete this…what if she didn’t listen to her father...she wanted to run away from that cruel king and his dungeons anyway…and she decided to fly off from the castle rooftop…possible?

—Ha! Castle? When did this old house become a castle? You gotta give it a brake dahlin!

—Oh come on! Listen to this…The little girl flies…

—Okay…she flies to Honah Lee and rolls on the beach with Puff, the magic dragon…what else do I need to hear?

—She doesn’t make it…Her wax wings melt…just like Icarus’. But she can’t give up, can she? She is so young. So every perfect summer day, when the world is dressed up, and the fruits are quietly ripening in the trees, and the birds are singing a nice one, she takes off….again, and again, and again. She has got stories to tell, places to see…it’s just her footsteps I hear.