I was once a wild bird, ensnared by a net as I swooped for food. Instead of a wide expanse of sky, I found myself in a tiny, handmade bamboo cage. Instead of the company of other wild things, I had an old human. He whistled at me encouragingly, fed me strange food and in the early mornings, took me for walks in the cage to a park. There we met other old men with their caged birds.
My prison was draped with a light cloth. A small opening brought me views of other birds in similar cages. The idea was to encourage us all to compete with each other, to show off our vocal prowess but I refused to sing. My heart was not in it. I missed my wild family, my mate in particular. I missed feeling the sun on my wings as I’d soar through the now forbidden sky.
While other caged birds had become accustomed to their new lives, I was haunted by the images of the fledglings I had been trying to feed when I had been caught. The desire for freedom ran so deep in me, I refused to settle.
The old man’s grandchildren would come to my cage when they’d visit. They’d make loud noises and even bang on the cage. The man would yell at them to make them stop. I would flutter in terror in that tiny space, spilling water and food.
One day, when the children visited, I sat morosely, fluffed up with my eyes closed. The eldest boy poked at me through the dark brown bars with a chopstick. I was given a reprieve from this torture when his grandfather called out and the boy ran out of the room, leaving the door ajar. His baby brother stood on the arm of the couch to continue poking me when he slipped and fell, pulling the cage down and me with it.
The boy began to cry. I wriggled from the cracked cage with it’s open maw, and fled through the open door, finding myself in a long, dark passage. I flew towards the end of the corridor which had an unlit light globe. My claws clung to the wire that dangled from the ceiling, heart beating a drum roll in my chest, beak agape. Darkness in that corner of the apartment hid me from sight.
The humans came thudding down the hall towards the room in which the younger boy sat crying. Seizing the moment, I escaped to the other side of the corridor, past the room with its open door, towards an open window, light and, at last, freedom.
