Me and That Big White Bird

I'll start at the beginning. According to my mother's physician, I got a “headstart” due to “overbaking”. Almost eleven months in the womb. According to Mom, I sat up and laughed at 3 days old.

I once played a martian in a school play. I had one line: “Gleeps porgle nard snerp!” That was as close as I've come to fame on the stage, unless you count choir.

I've played both trumpet and trombone, and neither of those really “stirred my soul”. I tried the accordion at a very young age, too – thanks to my dad's insistence. I hated every minute of it and so did everyone else in the house.

I think you already know I've dabbled in art and once took on the duties of organizing weekly breakfasts with as many as 30 artists. What you may not know is I have quite a collection of works by many of those artists. I've always made an effort to buy my friends' work, and I've been gifted some amazing pieces by other friends.

At the moment, all of those works of art are carefully packed away until we move. When we've settled in back in Wyoming, we will have a wonderful, unique gallery on the walls of our home and each piece will bring smiles as we think of the friends whose hands created them. That's a very significant part of my reasons for joining in this challenge. A Paul Stewart original might be a nice addition.

So, Pal Paul, how much time have you spent around peacocks? I have an aunt who raises them. My family visited her little “ranch” in rural Oklahoma often. Being the youngest of the bunch, and having no say in the matter, I went along. What I immediately learned the first time was, they're large, noisy, and, for lack of a more appropriate term, cocky.

In time, I found that I actually preferred their company to that of the chatter of the adults inside the house along with a Boston Terrier that “guarded” the birds who befriended me. I happily spent most of my time at aunty's place sitting quietly with my little four-legged companion and watching the antics of those fancy fowl. Every so often, I'd catch the little guy staring at me expectantly, as if I was missing something.

There was an albino cock that lorded over the rest. Not a Leucistic bird, mind you, born with yellow feathers that turn white later, and dark eyes. No, this was a true albino, snow white, with pink eyes. Pink eyes that burned right into mine on the day that bird strutted up and stared down at me.

It spread its plumage and I have to admit, it was captivating. The real surprise, though, was that it “spoke” to me, meaning I heard its voice in my head, not raucous and rude, but deep and calm – like an old soul, or at least how my mind thought an old soul would sound. Not that I had a clue what an “old soul” was at such an early age, but I digress.

I can still hear that voice in my head as I recall the message, though I've never completely understood it until today. This is exactly what it “told” me:

Listen well, young human. You will, one day, be a poet. You will come to know another poet, a Scottalian named Paul. He will be both self-deprecating and somewhat egotistical. Despite that, and your own ego, you'll form a friendship based on mutual admiration.

He will one day create a complex challenge for you and others. You will have reservations. Participate. He needs your support.