The Exchange

The Exchange

Once upon a time, there was a girl. Or, once upon a time there was a bird. At night, the bird was a girl, during the daytime, the girl was a bird. The bird (or the girl) spent her days happily, peacefully. Her home was the wide open moors, the land stretching away as far as she could imagine. The weather was powerful in this unforgiving place, the rain was cold, the wind strong and the snow deep. But she knew nothing else, so she never longed for a warmer, calmer home. The bird had friends, as far as birds can be friends; they flew together sometimes and pointed out good hunting grounds to one another. If a nest of mice or baby rabbits was found they sometimes even shared the feast. The bird lived in this way, and she was, as far as a bird can be, happy.

In the evening as the light grew dim and the shadows lengthened, and the heather and rocks took on a more sinister, on some nights the stars and moon glowed brightly, but on others the dark became so think and complete you could taste it. And at this time of the day, the bird became the girl.

Her wings shrank away for the night, leaving her with only feeble arms and legs. Thos happened every night, and every morning the girl woke ready to fly again. She had a girl sized nest in the corner of a ruined, tumbledown farmhouse, where she slept peacefully among the stones and the ferns. She was not afraid of the noises in the night, for she had heard them every night for as long as she could remember, and nothing had ever done her any harm.

The life of the girl (or the bird), strange as it may seem to you or I, was normal and ordinary to her. Nothing strange had ever happened, she simply continued her life slowly growing older and changing from girl to bird, bird to girl, as surely as the moon pulls the tide into the beach. She was the only one of her kind, but if she was lonely she did not know that she was, because she had never known what life could be like with a companion at her side.

One winter afternoon, when the sun was low in the sky and thick soft snowflakes were starting to fall, the bird was happy. She didn’t mind the nights, when she had arms and legs and had to walk to move around, but she was never happier than when she was on the wing. She flew higher and faster than the other birds, she dived closer to the ground, and caught bigger prey, as if to make up for the nights when she couldn’t fly at all. She was proud of her shiny brown feathers as they caught the weak winter sunlight, and of her sharp talons which could so easily rip thought flesh and provide her with a tasty meal. At night, without these things, she sometimes felt strange, a little lost. But because nothing had ever tried to hurt her she did not feel vulnerable without her weapons, or her means of escape. She did, sometimes, feel cold, but this was normal so it did not worry her. As the light fell, her legs grew, and she settled down for the night.

Early that next morning, before the sun had won its nightly battle against the darkness, she awoke. A strange noise had disturbed her sleep. It was as if an animal, a clumsy, large animal, was trying to imitate the soaring melodies of birdsong – but failing, miserably. Curious, she left the shelter of the broken walls and saw the creature.

It was similar shape to her night time form, with arms, and legs with which it walked – although having never learned a human language the girl could not have known that this was what they were called. It had no feathers or fur, but some kind of outer skin or covering. As soon as the girl came into its sight, the birdsong-that-wasn’t stopped. And what did the man see? He saw a young woman emerge from the ruin of a farmhouse, in the moonlight. She was tall, and long limbed, and naked. Her skin was dirty, and scratched in places, but this did not spoil the overall effect of pure, astounding natural beauty. She seemed to have feathers instead of hair.

They both stared, each fascinated by the other. The man said “Hello..”, the girl heard a grunt which made her pause. But, always interested rather than afraid, she moved closer to get a better look at this newcomer. She walked around him slowly, while the man stammered and blushed at her nakedness. Soon he fell quiet, as if under her spell. She reached out to touch him, to investigate the tough outer skin which was unlike feathers or any animal covering she knew. She came closer still, to smell his scent.

The man knew that he should do something; ask who she was, give her his coat and some tea from his flask. He tried to think of any stories of missing girls he might have seen on the news, but instead he lifted his hand to touch her face. And without a thought in his head he kissed her.

The girl felt as though she was soaring on a summer wind, held tightly and safe by the layers of warm air that bore her up above the mountains. She clung to the man, suddenly like a child in a storm, as she realised, without words, how lonely she had been all these years.

The man was confused, he was astounded at his own impulsive behaviour when he was normally so sensible, but he knew that more than anything he wanted to take this mysterious wild woman home with him and spend his life protecting her and providing for her.

As the sun rose over the hills and the couple stood entwined in one another’s arms, the girl did not grow wings and fly away. She looked at the face of the man before her and thought of his kiss, and then of the sensation and freedom of open flight. Without really understanding, but somewhere deep down knowing all along, she had traded one for the other. Was she right? Had she chosen the best path? Only time will tell.