Long ago, when the creatures ruled the land, all animals
lived in harmony with each other and were ruled by the Goddess of Creatures
Great and Small. Each morning the Goddess awoke to the call of the birds and animals
and slept with the songs of the night creatures in her ears. The animals' music
was her rhythm of life.
Her favorite song was the Beebird's; he had especially beautiful
music. And Beebird sang day and night with only tiny pauses while he slept. Beebird's
wings were a blur of color as he darted here and there, sipping nectar from
each flower.
One sunny morning Wolf and Squirrel went to the Goddess with
a complaint. "Goddess, we can't get any sleep," said Wolf.
"Beebird has a beautiful song, but it keeps us awake when we need to
rest."
"Yes," agreed Squirrel. "All the animals
elected us to come before you. No one is sleeping because Beebird is too
loud."
The Goddess said she would talk to Beebird and immediately
sent for him. When the Goddess told Beebird about the complaints, Beebird
buzzed in circles around the Goddess.
"Oh, Goddess, what shall I do? I love to sing. It makes me feel happy. I thought it made others happy, too. But I don't want the animals to be angry at me. What can I do?"
"I don't know what you can do. But I do know that, for
a while at least, you must not sing."
"I will try to be quiet," promised Beebird.
"I will try very hard."
And Beebird did try hard. For three days he did not make a
sound. But inside him his song grew. It began as a little nut in his toes and
then grew branches into his legs. Soon his song had blossomed into a leafy tree
in his belly and wings and he couldn't hold it back any longer.
Beebird's song filled the air, floating and swirling through
the trees. Glorious notes danced among the flowers, leaped over rocks, trickled
over streams, and spun in the air.
Once again Wolf and Squirrel complained. The Goddess called
Beebird before her and scolded him.
"Beebird, you leave me no choice. If you cannot control
your song, I will take it from you."
Even though the Goddess loved Beebird's song, she had to
think of the other animals. "The day I stop your song will be a sad day for
everyone," she said.
Beebird was ashamed as he left the Goddess. "There must
be a way to sing quieter," he thought. But his problem was time. He could
already feel another song building inside him.
Two days passed, and Beebird had not figured out how to sing
quietly. He felt like popcorn ready to burst. Beebird closed his eyes, willing
the song back down. When he opened his eyes he spotted a thick, green vine wrapped
around the branch he was perched on. "Maybe," he thought "there is
a way I can make my song quiet!"
He flew through the forest, looking for the Goddess. When he
found her, she granted him an audience.
"Goddess, I can't stop singing," said Beebird.
"But I may have the answer."
"I hope so, Beebird. Your song is too beautiful to silence."
"Perhaps if you wrap a piece of vine around my beak,"
suggested Beebird, "it might hold back my song."
The Goddess was willing to try, so she broke a piece of thin
vine off a bush and tied Beebird's beak together. When she was done she sent
him on his way with good wishes. The next day Beebird held his song as long as
he could. At first only a note or two leaked out. Soon, the song started, and
Beebird could not stop. But his song had no words -- and it was not at all
loud. It was soft!
All day Beebird sang as he tried to gather food. The vine
prevented most of the food from going into his beak. But Beebird was happy
anyway. He could sing!
The other animals noticed his song and they told the
Goddess. Once more the Goddess sent for Beebird. She commanded that he sing and
she listened to the happiness in Beebird's song. She saw the joy he felt in
singing and she was delighted.
She removed the vine from Beebird's beak.
"Beebird, how do you feel about your song now?"
"Oh, Goddess, it is wonderful! And I can sing without
bothering anyone. But there is one problem."
"What problem?"
"With the vine on my beak it is hard to eat," said
Beebird. "To drink the 'sweet flower juices, I need to open my mouth. But
I can't do that with the vine on." Beebird's shoulders slumped. "I
wish I could have my song," he sighed. "But I must eat."
"Your wish is granted," said the Goddess.
Suddenly Beebird's beak began to grow. It grew long and thin,
like a flower stalk.
"Sing, Beebird," the Goddess commanded.
And sing he did. It wasn't the ordinary warble or tweet of a
bird. Beebird hummed so high you felt like you were at the top of the tallest
tree and so low you could feel the grass surround you.
"One more thing," the Goddess said. "You
shall not be called Beebird anymore. To remind everyone of your unique song,
you will be called Hummingbird."
And from that day Hummingbird hummed his soft song, and all
the animals of wood enjoyed hearing it.
(by Peggy Langgle, Brilliant Star
September – October 1989)
