The Star

The Star

The star moved without hesitation across the black sky splintering fragments of sharp light down onto the city skyline.

The light, shed in pulses of shimmering strands, fell across the stone streets and alleys of the city centre.

The star had no memory of the past, no recollection of previous skies or horizons.

The star existed in a shining immediacy moving in between the night clouds and the faraway planets.

Down in the city most rooms and spaces were closed in shadows and darkness. The stone streets were silent and empty lit here and there by bursts of moonlight.

The star never looked back, never considered the history of the city. The star was separate and alone gleaming in crystal at the edge of the night.

In the centre of the city lay a small park. The trees and flowers were unmoving and calm in the still of the night. Looking up one young flower noticed the movement of the star and was intrigued. The flower stared up into the night sky as the star danced in sparkling light.

The flower had seen the illumination of the moon before but this was the first occasion that she had seen a moving star.

The flower whispered to her closest friend,

“There is a white flower blooming in the dark sky!”

The flower’s friend sighed and spoke,

”Perhaps this moving light is an associate of the moon. Both are white and scare the dark with their light”.

It seemed a logical reflection.

The tree nearest the flowers spoke:

“That is a star falling from the edge of the world”

he said with an aloof air.

Soon crows watching from the rooftops saw the falling star.

“This could be an omen” the chief crow said.

The star was spinning and accelerating streaming with white light.

Beyond the city limit an old train moved out of the grey station. It rocked along the tracks as it moved into the silent countryside.

The star cascaded into the distance watched by black street cats and crows alike.

In the forest an owl flew up toward the star catching a particle of light on the tips of its brown wings. The wing turned white with starlight and the owl flew over the forest trees sprinkling the pale light down over the black branches.

Deep in the forest a jaguar looked up at the owl and saw the streaks of light descending on to trees. The jaguar moved across the forest floor staring upward. The owl called out and the jaguar growled to herself. The jaguar moved between deep shadows and her eyes shone black.

Soon the forest was alive with new light, new shadows that hinted at the shape of men and women. The figures remained slivery and vague beside the trees and flowers. The figures had a ghostly presence like mist moving in the silence of the trees. The new people were formed of light from the falling star. They did not speak or breath but waited for the dawn in stillness.

The star continued to fall, lighting up the world with innocent, white sparks full of promises

and dreams.

Light falling to the forest floor created more and more shapes and forms.

Soon white, icy shapes became ghostly wild animals and birds.

Pale birds and wild cats moved beneath the shadows of the forest.

Caves and secret places were touched by new outlines of light. Jewels gleamed and stones shone as they were encountered the new creatures. Spiders lying on sparkling webs crawled toward the new creatures.  Emerald green snakes twisting in the depths of the darkest caves emerged to adore the new creatures. Cast in light new crows, new owls flew into the night sky.

Everywhere in the world there was movement and gleaming white distances emerged.

The world of night was lit up by these strange forms and was never the same again.

Sadly the world was more concerned with the news of war and profit, the endless cruel streets made of money and steel, the surge to work and the relentless darkness of tomorrow.

Chris Bird 2017

The Station

The Station

The station was nearly empty even though it was the rush hour. Sunshine was trying to break through the mass of drifting white and grey clouds.

I looked up at the various irregular shapes and forms in the clouds.

I stared for so long that I missed my train.

I stayed there all day.

Trains emptied commuters on the platform and took up others to carry away. Sparks on the train tracks leapt up into the cold air.

When I was a child I use to like to identify birds, cats, faces, hands, moon crescents or the outline of complicated buildings.

As a child this was a game or casual indulgence.

As the song goes,

“That joke isn’t funny anymore….”

Chris Bird

The Secret

The Secret

The secret machine defined and created people’s lives. From tower blocks, offices, factories and hospitals the shadows it created stepped onto the streets.

Even ghosts collected in the forests on the city limits fused in mist and fog.

Shimmering figures waited on every grey roof top. Owls watched in the midnight hours as the machine hummed and glowed.

One patient in the psychiatric hospital glanced out of the ward window. She saw the machine floating in a mass of cogs, wheels, wires and tubes high above the city.

It was only a brief glimpse.

She didn’t tell the psychiatrist.

Chris Bird

The New Language

The New Language

There were self - inflicted scars on my hands and on my arms. The red patches of darkened skin were sore and irritating. I imagined myself as a puppet who had fallen off the controlling strings of family and faith. My skin was my outer defense but was it defending me from the world or from myself.

The marks on my skin would gradually evolve into a complex map of streets and alleys. The marks would become a code, a guide, an index crawling on my cold white skin.

The marks were linked to the movement of distant planets and worlds across the universe.

The stars themselves clung to the outlines of the cuts on my fingers and palms. The sunset and sunrise began to observe and follow the sequence of damage and harm on my arms.

Soon horizons of bright and distant constellations surrounded my injuries.

I needed to feel pain and the distraction of harm , the relentless cruelty of the world was mirrored on the surface of my skin.

At midnight ghost children came beside the marks to marvel at the wounds. The icy night

waited for the next cut , the next injury.

Chris Bird

Three Words

The Invention

She lived in a faraway tower. At first she recorded random sequences that seemed to provide a way out of feeling lost and vulnerable. Then she used the codes and numbers to invent a complicated machine made of steel, iron and glass. It was covered in screens, levers and glass. The machine was at one and the same time fragile and powerful.

After building the machine she sighed with exhaustion. At night the machine had emerald and jade lights that blinked like dawn stars.

Scattering lights shone from deep within the complex machine.

Steadily a new sound emanated from the machine. It was a distorted purring sound that gradually grew filling the room.

Then the sound faded into total silence.

She looked silently at the machine and the machine soundlessly returned her gaze.

After a long period of quiet the machine spoke

“I invented you” it said to the women.

Chris Bird

Summer

The summer was not a season or period of time. The summer was in reality a young person of either gender.

The Summer was a hopeful, temporary moment like a brief glance.

Hemmed in between Spring and Autumn the Summer faced long working hours including weekends and Bank Holidays. The Summer sadly suffered from soft coloured bullying and intimidation.

Thus the Summer wept.

Weeping so continuously the Summer caused tearful rivers streaming from the bright core in moving channels.

Sunshine blinded the aged, decrepit plants and trees.

London was indifferent.

Made of skyscrapers, bridges of shadow, castles and spires, supermarkets, offices, graveyards, hospitals and schools what did London care either way.

Thus the Summer wept feeding the dark world in everyday streets.

From shopping centres, alleyways, markets, churches and stadiums, motorways and canals, cliffs and hills the Summer broke down weeping, weeping inconsolably with glittering endless tears.

The Summer cried at night, in the dawn, at dusk and even in the day. The Summer prayed between tears for Autumn to arrive.

But it never did. It never did.

 Chris Bird

Admission

The strange machine was hard to detect.

It sat above the complex city in complete silence.

The smoke of chimneys and the mist of summer hid the complicated mass of cogs, pipes, tubes, levers, screens and wheels.

The machine produced endless codes and symbols relentlessly controlling the ebb and flow of the huge, bustling city.

Commuters like ants swarmed hopelessly around the smoky bus and train stations.

They didn’t understand that their lives were not authentic, meaningful or real. The pulse of the day throbbed steadily from deep inside the structure.

The streets were just a map, a shifting outline planned deliberately by the machine.

The city dwellers could barely guess that the shining machine controlled everything however trivial.

The machine in the clouds was all seeing , all knowing.

One day a girl in a psychiatric hospital looked up into the sky and saw the machine.

“You are delusional” it whispered to her.

Chris Bird

Love on the rocks.

The couple on a secret romantic trip stood on the deck of the ship passionately kissing and embracing, blissfully unaware that the woman's boyfriend was watching from his cabin room. He had a ticking time-bomb in his hand and set the countdown clock to 60 minutes and placed it inside a briefcase. He then walked nonchalantly to the bar where he could order himself a couple of large whiskies on the rocks and wait for the explosion. He hated the cheating pair so much that he was prepared to commit an act of terrorism.

Darren Sewell

Trane of Thought

Trane of Thought

Midnight glimpses round

Smoking down.

Dripping from his skin comes the shade

The cigarette haloes blow away

And the trumpet glistens,

Like a sharp smile of joy.

He breathes

Cool as dusk, soft as ashes.

Blowing crystal , glinting , scolding

Streaming against drumbeat pour.

New night sky colours flowing

Riot blossom of light

Scattering jade.

And the man

Like a statue in spellbound blue

Just looks.

Silent and distant

As the cloudy moon.

Chris Bird

The Secret Pianist

The Secret Pianist

His friends all noticed how he was preoccupied with his hands. They were always clean and the nails were trimmed. When they played football he would never play in goals. Even his friends thought he might be effete. When sitting at table he would drum his fingers. Some people thought it was a nervous habit.  One day one of his friends was invited to his home. He told the group later that  he had a large piano and played fluently to a high grade. Now his friends knew why he cared so much for his hands.

Aidan Rafferty.

The diligent ticket collector.

 

“Tickets please, Tickets, Tickets please.”

The Persistent ticket collector went round the bar once more. She wasn’t having much luck.

“Tickets please, tickets please” Not a single person had a ticket.

“Tickets for what love?” one of the regulars piped up.

At last someone has paid attention she thought. “Tickets for the end of the world”

“Come off it!” the regular responded. “Tickets for what?”

The ticket collector decided to redouble her efforts by going to the characters in the pub in the east end of London just before closing time.

“Yes sweetie. I’m collecting tickets”

“Tickets for what?”

“Tickets to survive a natural disaster.”

“Well I’ll take one.” Said the regular.

“I’m not selling tickets. My job is to collect tickets.”

“I’ll have another pint.” The regular said.

By now a group had gathered.

“What sort of natural disaster is it? Another regular spoke up.

“It’s an unspecifiable natural disaster. But it will happen just after last orders tonight.” She said again. “I’m here to collect tickets”

“So where do you buy the tickets? A third regular spoke up. He was humouring her.

She replied in earnest.”I don’t know where to buy them. I’m just paid to collect them.”

At that moment, the landlord rang the bell for last orders. “Drink up gentlemen please”

“No tickets here, Oh well” sighed the persistent ticket collector “No one will survive a natural disaster.”

At that precise moment the pub was washed away by a giant tidal wave/ tsunami.

Paul Turner

Harry the Rat

There was no way getting away from it. The growths on Harry’s back had spread. There was now a discernible weight forcing down onto his spine. At first he had tried to shake the feeling off. As he turned from side to side the growths had became more and more rigid. His tiny feet felt stiffened as he scuttled along the earthy tunnel. He kept stopping to take extra breathes and he senses a permanent weariness. He stopped and nuzzled at the earth walls of the side tunnel. His nose twitched but with a slightly sad motion.

 Usually Harry was the happiest and most vibrant of the younger rats in the colony. He usually played endlessly with his brothers and sisters scurrying along the tunnels and crawling along the garden above.

Perhaps if he stayed in the side tunnel no one would notice the changes. They had started a few weeks before. While he was waiting a familiar sound came from down the tunnel. A whistling sound was followed by the sight of Paula his friend. She glanced down the tunnel with her usual impatient, clever eyes.

“What are you doing there Harry old pal” she said cheerfully thinking him to be playing a game of some kind. Her eyes sparkled with the expectation of laughter.

“Oh, oh” Harry replied trying to some normal and equally cheerful as his friend. “Just taking a break” he sniffed the ground to disguise his melancholy expression. “Oh well come along with me “smiled Paula lets go and explore a bit mmm.” Paula was the kind of smart, quick thinking rat who adored challenges and was always suggesting an adventure of some kind.

“Ok” agreed Harry a bit sheepishly. “You go on ahead and I will catch you up”

“Catch me up!” laughed Paula with sparkling eyes, “you can’t catch me! Never in a million years“ she laughed and sped away down the tunnel. Harry edged into the main tunnel. His back was throbbing. The ache filled his whole body. He needed to check on what was happening on his furry back. He didn’t follow Paula but doubled back slowly along a narrow tunnel that led some way down to a central cave. A couple of small rats were napping in the corner. Along the walls there were a collection of interesting objects that the younger rats had discovered. There was an old watch next to some shiny paper and a series of shells and stones. Harry edged up to the shiniest stone and looked at his reflection. He gasped. His worst fears were confirmed by what he saw. In the gloom of the cave Harry could make out a line of tiny shapes on his back. The bumps and growths had developed and developed. As Harry squinted he could see a line of tiny, tiny buildings on his back. A tiny tower stood next to a line of houses and a kind of tiny castle that spread along his back to just above his tail!

The small rats were snuggling together in the corner snoring lightly when suddenly a bigger rat poked its head into the space. Uncle Rat sniffed the air and immediately looked toward Harry.

“What are you doing over there?” asked Uncle Rat, “why are you out with the others harvesting?” (Harvesting was the term the rat colony used for scavenging for food and nesting materials) Uncle Rat spoke with an air of severe authority. His eyes burnt with a strong stare.

“I’m sick” Harry blurted out. “I’m just resting here for a bit”.

“Resting! Resting! “ boomed Uncle Rat with a loud burst that woke the two youngsters in the corner. “What’s wrong with you? Scared of mice are you? Get out there you little lazy rat!”

Harry moved slowly out into the cave and Uncle Rat’s eyes widened suddenly! “What on Earth!...“ he began to stutter. He sniffed at Harry and then studied him from twitching nose to scratchy foot.

“What is that on your back?” he boomed again and the two young rats ran in fear out of the cave. Open mouthed Uncle Rat stared and stared at the strange shapes on Harry’s back. He sniffed and stared and then stared and sniffed. He was dumbfounded. Silence filled the rat cave.  After a long time Uncle Rat said quietly in a thoughtful manner. “Come with me “....

The Rat council gathered in the special meeting cave. Some of the rats were very, very old and wore emeralds and silver around their tails. There was a piece of broken glass squashed into the earthy wall and a line of shiny green and amber pebbles around the edge of the floor. The rats were all different shades of black and brown. One huge old rat spoke in a faltering aged voice.

“We have spoken here together for many hours. We have decided in our wisdom that the only course of action available to us as a nation of rats is....” she paused. Harry who sat in the corner of the cave looked up. There were 20 or more rats lining the cave. All of them had powerful and aged eyes. All of them were staring at him. Harry felt his whole body tremble with fear and anxiety.

“You will be expelled from the colony never to return Harold” said the old rat.

“Harry “hissed another rat “the youngsters name is Harry “.

“Yes, yes Harry “said the old rat in a fading voice. She coughed and then spoke again. “

How this magic can be stopped is beyond us. We must think of our colony. Apart from anything else those shapes will cause absolute havoc on our carefully constructed tunnels!”

 “She coughed again. “Go and never return” she said firmly sniffing the air.

Harry found himself in a garden. There was rubbish strewn here and there. An empty crisp packet blow past. Harry dived toward it and licked the inside. The salty taste filled his mouth. His hunger was so deep inside him now that it seemed to weigh him down. He shook his body. The town on his back creaked and stilled. Across the garden a fence led down toward the river. A high tree shrouded this end of the garden in darkness. Harry stopped sick and tired. After his expulsion he had walked far from the old colony. Sometimes he used other tunnels. This was dangerous though because other colony’s might take a very dim view of a stranger using their tunnels especially a rat that looked as strange as Harry now did. He sipped at a tiny puddle of water caught in a leaf. The rain began to patter down. When he was in the old colony he had always love the patter, patter of rain. Now Harry felt dejected and hungry. He missed his old playmates with all his heart. Most of all he missed the familiar smells and sounds of the colony. He missed the old rats and the young rats who were all part of his extended family. He hated being alone. He thought of his future and it seemed very bleak. The rain began to pour and Harry shivered. He thought of running to the river and jumping in. That would end his torment once and for all. He hated the feeling of loneliness. He missed the company of rats like clever Paula. He wished that he was as clever as her. “She would know how to solve all this awfulness ” he thought glumly to himself.

A leaf above him suddenly rustled and Harry glanced up ready to run for cover. He nestled down in the wet earth trying to conceal himself as best he could. The rustling continued.

 From above a shape dropped into view just a small distance from Harry. Harry braced himself. He was getting ready to run. A long elegant claw came into Harry’s view. Then another claw appeared. A beak plucked down at the leaves. The beak was black and shone with rain. Harry stayed very still. The beak plucked a wriggling shape from between the leaves. The worm wriggled and struggled as the sharp beak flicked it up again. Harry took his chance. He scuttled quickly away. Whatever it was eating the worm would surely be too busy to follow him. Harry moved as quickly as he could into the pile of leaves and kept going head down. As he came to the base of the tree he leapt across toward a patch of grass where there was a green fence. As he headed under the fence he heard the rustle of wings and the claws appeared directly in front of him. He glanced up instinctively. A dark mass of black feathers glared back. A pair of glassy eyes stared at him with open hostility.  The beak opened slightly.

“What are you doing in my garden” hissed the crow. His beak gleamed with rain. “We don’t allow rats here “he hissed threateningly. Harry froze. He realised that the crow could peck him at any moment. He sighed and said, “I’m sorry. I’m sick and had to leave my home. I didn’t know this garden was only for crows”. His voice was a pathetic, low squeak.

The crow stared for a moment. He looked Harry up and down. “What is this thing on your back?” He went close to the tiny town that had grown there. “What is this magic?” he asked.

“I don’t know “said Harry in a burst of anguish” I just want it to go. I just want to return to my colony one day. I hate being far from my friends!”

The crow listened and thoughtfully backed away from Harry.

For a long time there was a silence between them. The rain gave the only sound. The crow looked at Harry for a long, long time.

“You are hungry aren’t you “he said and Harry immediately nodded.

“Wait here “said the crow and suddenly flew smoothly up into the sky.

Harry had no alternative but to wait.

The rain finally stopped and the sun came out. Harry waited and just as he gave up hope the crow returned. The crow dropped an insect in Harry’s path.

“Can you eat that?” he asked with his black head on one side.

Harry leapt forward and began chewing on the dead insect.

The crow and Harry began to talk. Harry explained the story of the growths and the life in the tunnels of the colony. The crow talked of great storms in the sky and the beauty of the dawn sky. They talked and talked until the rain started again. After a while the crow said,

“You must be a very special rat indeed. I will take you to someone who will be able to explain this strange happening.”

The crow walked uneasily across the garden. He shouted back to Harry “follow the fence down the river bank, then follow the river back into the forest. I will wait for you there.” Then the crow, whose name was Raoul, flew up into the rainy sky.

Harry scuttled along by the fence until he reached the river. He saw a tiny mouse that scrambled away as soon as he saw Harry. He saw a whole beside the river and was tempted to hide there. However fearing an otter he continued along the river. The sound of the racing water filled his ears. The water surged and gurgled and splashed along by the stony and muddy banks. At last Harry reached the forest. Now the moon was shining. Moonlight cascaded down from between the dark branches. Harry looked around and could not see the crow.

The sky seemed to be full of gleaming moonlight. The silver light shone on the leaves and stones. The ghostly light mesmerised Harry as he waited. At last the crow landed nearby.

“Now you must follow the moonlight “said the crow. I will meet you with my brothers and sisters in the open glade near here”.

Harry followed the intense white light of the moon. He crossed ridge of stones and grass and walked carefully between the roots of huge trees. The forest was silent apart from the rustle of the leaves. Harry looked up and saw the trees overhead. He watched the leaves move in the night wind. He saw something shining in the trees above him. A jewel like shine stood out from the trees. Suddenly the bright jewel became a movement and a rush of dim colour. Harry instinctively ran and shouted to himself “OWLS!” Harry raced into the undergrowth as the owl dived toward him. The owl’s talons brushed over his tail. Harry span around and rushed toward the shadows.

The owl settled on a branch and watched the ground. His eyes were well trained and accustomed to the darting movement of rats. His head turned in the moonlight. His beak trembled with expectation of a juicy meal. Harry moved very carefully and slowly between the trees. He knew he was in mortal danger. He felt exhausted. The weight of the town on his back seemed to be growing. In a moment the crow landed nearby. “You are too slow rat “said the crow. “Follow me. We will not let the owl hunt here in our trees.”

As Harry watched two crows swooped near the owl and he flew up into the moonlight. The crows squawked and the owl flew off back toward the river.

The crows were gathered on some old stones near the centre of the glade. There were too many for Harry to count. Black and bulky the crows stood waiting bathed in moonlight. They watched Harry approach with Raoul. The crows gasped as they saw Harry.

In the moonlight the town on Harry’s back began to grow. The towers leapt up taller and taller. The stone like castle sprouted new battlements. A house mushroomed up on Harry’s shoulders. Harry thought this was the end. He rolled to one side in agony. A pale beautiful light filled the glade. The trees on every side shone with the brilliant shade. Moonlight glinted and gleamed over the assembled crows. The stones shone with light and the night sky burned with ivory stars.

Suddenly the houses and towers and castle left Harry’s back. A haze of moonlight shone around the rat. The city he had carried was suddenly sitting on the floor of the forest in the shining moonlight.

Harry sighed and felt a huge relief. He shook his head and he shook his tail with pleasure. He twitched and sniffed the air. Raoul the crow said,

‘You have done your job Harry. They needed someone to bring them to this magic place. Look!’

From inside the tiny houses and towers even smaller figures emerged. They were as small as insects on the ground. They stood in the mesmerising moonlight and waved their arms. They were small figures who began to float up into the moonlight.

Harry blinked and frowned. The town on the forest floor was crumbling before his eyes. The towers and castle became tiny, dusty ruins. The figures danced up into the air. White and green the figures danced away toward the leaves, toward the night sky.

Harry heard a shimmering voice,

“We thank you Harry. You carried us to a special place. We are far from our home. We are travelling back. We saw your good heart. We knew you would find a way to this glade eventually. We are grateful.

Now you can return to your colony. Your eyes will always sparkle!”

Colours traced the high trees in silver and green. The night shone.

The crows rose up into the air in a black pulse of flight.

Harry felt the light wash over him. When he opened his eyes again he was back in the colony. The familiar entrance hole was before him. He stopped for a moment. His nose twitched and his eyes shone.

                                                                                               Chris Bird

The Jaguar

The Jaguar

The huge stones ran in a jagged line along the bank of the river. The river moved slowly sparkling in the clear autumn sunshine. The riverbank led to a cluster of trees. It was here amongst the trees that the jaguar sat hidden in the canopy of leaves. Every so often a leaf fell slowly from the tree to the grass. The jaguar barely noticed the leaves. His stare was fixed firmly on the stones as they absorbed the rays of the sunshine. The sun glinted on the surface of the river and cast a glow across the grey surface of the stones. With a lazy sluggish movement the jaguar moved along the branch and waited. The sound of the water was the only sound in the air. The jaguar turned and looked around. 

His movements were slow and yet full of power and elegance. In a second the jaguar leapt into the space in front of him. The shape of the cat filled the air. His black fur shimmered in the sun. The cat's body did not fall directly to the grass. The shape seemed to hang in the air and drop in gradients toward the ground. Each movement left a ghostly shape in the air as it flowed into the next solid form. The jaguar seemed to be part of six or seven outlines which in a spectrum of solidity headed toward the firm earth. From deep shimmering black the shapes became more and more translucent until they faded in a faint image of movement. It was as if the jaguar had leapt into six shapes in the air which faded and blurred until they reached the ground. Now at last the black cat stood on the ground in a black, stern shape of darkness. The air around the cat shimmered with the impulse of the jump. The cat prowled across the grass toward the river. His body was firm and powerful stepping toward the water. The light flowed over him and shone in the black elegance of his prowling body. 

When the jaguar reached the stones he sniffed the air and stopped. The river sparkled beyond the riverbank and the trees swayed in a light breeze. The jaguar lifted his paw and began to scratch the side of the stone. He did so firmly and in a regular movement. Gradually as he scratched the stone marks began to show on the stone surface. The marks became deeper and deeper as he scratched.

From the deep within the surface of the stone a faint sound began to emerge.

The sound sounded like a faint pulse of breathe. The sound grew as the jaguar scratched.

As the wind grew the trees swayed more violently. The river darkened and the sparkling surface quality of the water changed. A cold shadow passed across the river and the riverbank alike.

The stone split slowly and gradually. The stone surface opened and the claws of the jaguar pulled the parts away. As the stone opened a sweet smell emerged into the air. The jaguar lifted itself up to stand looking into the stone. The parts of the stone fragmented and fell to the grass.

The jaguar lifted back it's head and roared in ecstasy. It's call carried across the forest toward the low hills and the town beyond.

As night came the wind moved slowly across the tops of the trees. The colours of the stars shone down on the forest as the jaguar paced toward the faraway hills. Around the neck of the jaguar hung an emerald stone that glowed in the night air. The stone had given up the emerald to the claim of the black cat. Now the jaguar prowled the moonlit forest decorated with the green trophy. The agitated monkeys that glanced at the cat saw the emerald  became still . The owls that swooped amongst the high branches saw the emerald and stayed their flight out of admiration. All the creatures of the forest recognised that the jaguar was the prince of the shadows now that he wore the beautiful jewel. The birds of the forest sand tributes to the black cat as he paced the dark night. 

Until morning the emerald glowed and lit up the night of shadows. The music of the forest faded before the clear hearted brilliance of the jewel. The stars themselves seem faint in comparison.

At last the jaguar curled up and began to sleep. He found a place high in the trees. As he slept his dreams reached out over the highest trees in the forest. The dream shone in delicate and translucent tones that scaled the sky up toward the moon itself.   

The moon accepted the dreams like words of sacred promise. The dreams blurred in the night sky sending streams of icy green light that reached across the night of the world. The jaguar's eyes grew more and more green as he stared into the night. Eventually the planets became small beside the eyes of the jaguar as it leapt through the starlight into the distance.

Chris Bird