“Today I found a feather from you,” you said.
“I dropped it, somewhere up there, for you, dropped it because I knew it would find you,” I replied.
“And it landed on my shoulder, and I carried it with me. Do you see the imprint? A brandy. It has burnt into my fur, not through to the skin, just a little. So it’ll stay a little while. Will you still be there when the time fades? Will you still be there when everything breaks around me?”. you asked thoughtfully. I did not know exactly whether you wanted to hear an answer that you already had long ago, or it should simply be a confirmation. You cannot know what I know as long as I cannot pronounce it. You cannot be as long as you do not allow me to see you by speaking to me. No one can do that. It is illusion and tragedy. The real and only tragedy. It all seems so small and unnecessary, from where I draw my circles.
“I’ll be there when the air is mild, I’ll be there when the storm comes up, and also when it fades away. I will be there when everything around us is in ruins, leaving the view to the light and the sky unhindered. I’ll be there when the last breath is done as I was at the first. I’ll be there,” I said, because I knew about becoming, just like you.
“And after it has burned in, the feather in my fur, I took it gently from the shoulder, so gently that every single branch remained undamaged. Black it was, with a little white spot. I took it between my teeth, held it gently, and carried it with me. The feather burned my tongue, and I was cleansed of the nonsensical, began to speak, as never before, found words and meaning in me that were not there before. I found. In me. I found so much that still needs the word. I found you. Brandy in my fur. Burning on my tongue. Burnt up that I keep it flame, amidst the cold and the ice,” you told me.
“It is quite easy to burn in, but it is difficult to accept the meaning, the significance of the pain. What good is the pain for me without meaning? Some do not get beyond the pain and bitterness, but what was the reason for the Pandora’s box? The hope. You could have torn off your feather at the first sign, tear it away and not allow it, but you trusted me and your strength, did not immediately close the lid again, but held up to the bottom. That’s why I sent you the feather, and no one else, I gave you my brand, and no one else, so I went out of the shelter of the expanse into your untamed wildness,” I said, and the wings close to the body, Because there was no escape, because there was only here, and the bite was your sign which you gave me, which colored my feathers red, shining in the light of the sun, and the silence spread out, devoured the words, Until only more remained which was essential and will remain. The feather lay as a symbol on the ground. No one branch was injured.