I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings
When I was walking down the garden path, I happened upon a scarlet bird sweetly singing in a sycamore tree. She sang so freely, her song delighted my senses, filling my sonic landscape with melodies heretofore unheard. I came upon the realization that I was so enchanted with her belling melody, I rendered speechless. Reaching my hand to greet her, she flew off into the night, longing to escape my reach, swooping away the grips of my reality. She was not of my terrain. Rather she lofted up towards the heavens where she would lend her voice to an unheard choir of angels, late for the sky. Her presense was mesmerizing. Gone was my sorrow, sadness, and loss; restitute with the romance of capturing her heart for it to hold.
Escaping back into my reality I began crafting. I carved of wood, I forged metal and steel, fashioning with gold and silver, bedecked with jewels and bedangled with crystal prisms. Each crystal teardrop captured light fancifully, but none could match the blissful glee of the song I knew would soon be mine. I longed for the day when I could capture her heart and harvest that golden melody. The slighest notion of her made me giddy. I flourished, knowing that she soon would be mine. No one would share in my delight, I would rejoice with her.
I waited anxiously upon her arrival, but no sound escaped. She cried in silence until her death. Only the hollow emptiness belled from her feathered perch. The carillon was quiet, she cried silently. The boughs before her, the metal and steel of her gilded cage, silenced her extraordinary symphony.
I know why the caged bird sings. We relegate freedom as priceless, yet we are enslaved through our passions and captured by the shackels of our golden handcuffs. Love and freedom form a strange kindred. Yes, I know why the caged bird sings. She has a voice that echoes about you and me.
Until next time, this is Carol, the Carol in “Carol’s Little World” signing off.
