Perched Like Little Birds

Eve found herself constantly thinking about Granoldi. He was almost twice her size, and she knew she should be frightened, but she was not. He seemed familiar - and, after-all, he was just sleeping. 

And she herself couldn’t sleep. She felt drawn to keep checking the big bear in the room right beside hers. At first she would go into his room to make sure that he hadn’t woken, and watch this huge rounded form, lying in the bed gently breathing, so quietly and slowly it was almost imperceptible … 

She wondered what it was that brought her such happiness looking at this creature. Of course most people instantly love animals of all kinds - to this there is no doubt - they want to pat and hug and cuddle and show great signs of affection to creatures they have only just met - this is not new. Perhaps this was the explanation? It was only natural. 

In this instance he was imposingly large to say the least, and he was not an ordinary creature at all. And she, she was no ordinary creature either: her spiritual nature had developed in ways that mortals never usually experience, for in her previous life Eve also had been gifted in clairvoyant ways.

She could understand life with a mind that could encompass two worlds rolled into one. And during this last life she had loved this very same bear - and today it had become obvious to her in this very distant recollection, there was something strong between them.

On the first day of his arrival Eve had placed a vase of flowers from the garden to put on his bedside table. On the second day she had noticed that the flowers had begun growing and there was a bigger bunch there than before.

Small birds would come to his window sill and sit sometimes for ten minutes or more, as though they were watching over him, or just wanting to be close by.

Still the great bear slept on.

Another memory swept across her so quickly before she could even glimpse it.

It fluttered by so fast she had to look back to be able to see it: for that is the way with memories - they perch upon your shoulders like little birds, and sit so very quietly that you can barely sense that they are there.

A memory visits you not once but twice, and then, just as it goes to leave, you may but briefly catch sight of it.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Finding Self - Second Guesses- Azlander Series