There exists a road that sits beside a quiet river. The river moves slowly and shimmers in the sunlight, and the road follows it as if one could not exist without the other. Grass grows between the stones as little insects dance across the river. Spiders and ants swim across its clear blue surface on little flower boats drifting along its still waters. As they continue about, the river fills with flowers of many colors and sizes—blues and pinks, yellows and whites—moving gently throughout the water.
An old bird walked along the road. His feathers, pale and gray and worn from many seasons, and he walked with a slight limp due to age. He thoroughly enjoyed the atmosphere of the road and its surroundings because the road did not hurry him. When he felt tired, the river sang to him a calming melody, and he would feel rejuvenated. When he felt lost, the road's rough, coarse dirt kept him grounded. It had an old, almost ancient feel to it as he moved along—some spots felt as smooth as marble, as if walked by many before him.
The old bird did not know why he walked, only that the day felt important. The river flowed forward, the road stretched on, and the old bird kept walking, ready for whatever lay ahead on this journey.
An old bird walked along the road. His feathers, pale and gray and worn from many seasons, and he walked with a slight limp due to age. He thoroughly enjoyed the atmosphere of the road and its surroundings because the road did not hurry him. When he felt tired, the river sang to him a calming melody, and he would feel rejuvenated. When he felt lost, the road's rough, coarse dirt kept him grounded. It had an old, almost ancient feel to it as he moved along—some spots felt as smooth as marble, as if walked by many before him.
As the old bird journeyed on, his eyes caught sight of something in the distance. Standing on long, slender legs firmly planted in the river was another bird with soft white feathers, ruffled and unkempt, leaning over the road. The bird had its eyes focused on a pile of various grains as the old bird slowly approached. A sudden gust of wind blew past him, spilling the grain all along the road.
"Couldn't you have moved around instead of interrupting my work?" said the crane, their voice tired and monotone, as if the old bird were of barely any importance. The old bird offered an apology, which did not seem to soothe the crane's contempt. The crane, who had now started to sort the grain back into separate piles, then turned to face the old bird.
"Tell me, what do you provide to this world if you do not work? Why do you journey along the road if not to accomplish a task?" said the crane, with the expression of someone who had spent years on a single, seemingly endless labor.
The old bird didn't know how to respond to the sudden question. He gave a simple gesture, signaling that he would think about it as he continued walking down the road, leaving the crane to sort their grain, fist clenched in frustration.
The Old bird continued on the road. Returning to silence, he could feel the relaxing coolness of the breeze through his feathers. As he walked, he found himself humming to a strange, almost hypnotic song; it sounds light and delicate, like a soft curtain. As he advanced further he noticed the sight of a large black bird in the middle of the road, sitting on a small flat stone. The bird carried a small lyre and a satchel around their waist with what seemed to house coins in it. As he drew closer he felt drowsy - almost at the verge of sleep. "While you live, Shine," the Raven sang to their audience of beetles that surrounded the stone. These beetles were small with a nice orange color and big black spots on their little backs. They listened intently to the Raven's every word. The Raven then turned around to look at the old bird and said, "Oh my! It seems we have a surprise guest! How lovely! Did you enjoy my song?" The old bird nodded as he rubbed his eyes and opened them fully to address the Raven. "Well, that's good. I love putting on a show worthy of all attention. I know where you're going but before you leave, I must ask you something then I'll leave ya be." The Old bird looked puzzled before giving a respectful gesture that said what the Raven needed giving a playful thumbs up the Raven then began to sing "Tra-la-la, little traveler, tapping boots on borrowed ground-Tell me now, before the dusk, what is it you're hoping to be found? Whisper to be this da-" The Old bird quickly hushed the Raven giving a scolding glare the type an older sibling or parent would give the raven startled by this motion gave a bittersweet smile then parts the way for the old bird the beetles and even stone move way as the Old bird walked the Raven gave a wave
Frustration over took the Old bird feeling a mix of anger and annoyance still he continued on marching at a faster pace the sounds of the river doing little to quell his thoughts still when the time came and he saw another bird in the distance he clutched his fist and took a long heavy breath the bird in the distance was dressed in flowing gossamer robes a thin silver vale cover their features though he could still make out the type of bird they were a small dainty dove although they were clearly stationary they seemed to flow like the wind a cold bone-chilling wind one mixed with sorrow and joy as the Old bird moved the Dove didn't react not a glance or movement nothing but silence then voice spoke out not from the Dove but from the forest itself a voice that reeked of neutrality not-sold nor warm neither heavy or light not coming from a place of malice or benevolence it just is "At a certain age every goodbye starts to become practice. Hate cannot exist within the same moment as a beautiful song." said the Dove or at least that's who the Old bird assumes is speaking he cannot be sure if the Dove even speaks at all or if it's simply the voice of the forest itself as he went to further examine the Dove they were gone in an instant then the Old bird thought to himself "Had there really been a bird here just now? Did they say something? Were they big or small, old or young?" the Old bird couldn't remember he tried to for so long that the leaves of the bees turned orange he didn't know how much time had past but he knew he couldn't wait any longer he marched at a pace between fast in slow like words he couldn't remember the meaning of
The Old bird approached what he believed was the final stretch of road as he walked he noticed what seemed to be wooden children's toys on the side of it like a child was playing but had no time to clean up the air started to smell of sweets various cakes and other sugary confections to a sickening degree bees of various patterns seem to appear out of nowhere and follow the Old bird as if the smell is coming from him suddenly he hears a boing sound the sound of a rubber ball hitting the dirt road as he continues his stride he sees what seems to be a small child continuously bouncing a ball a small grey head and orange belly a Robin he thought as the Robin continued to bounce their ball they looked up at the Old bird "Hey sir do you wanna play? I love having fun with knew people." The Old bird looked at the small Robin examining the way the they phased their words "Knew? Did they say Knew people? But I've never seen them before maybe- Boing the ball touched his foot he stared down at it for a while it's rea polor seemed strangely hypnotizing the he stared the more he started to feel something seep into his eye then a sharp stabbing pain he fell over unable to stand as his mind started to feel like a thousand needles were jabbed into his pain as he rolled over his eyes became focus his posture changed he no longer felt pain instead he felt clarity standing up he looked down at the Robin who spoke "How many cycles has it been?" Said the Robin as they hold a knot and continuously tied and untied it in their hands "This place will keep going you know, the others don't remember but I do. And yet still the answer eludes me why do you keep going through this road? When everything will repeat the same emotions, the same fear and pain is this truly what you want to keep doing?" said the Robin still continuing to fidget with the knot then the old bird spoke "I do not know why I continue through these cycles there's this craving I have to be alive to be free I want to live again and again even if I must feel the same pain over and over even if I'm reborn rich or poor, scared or brave, happy or sad I want to still live because I know no matter how I am reborn my life still has meaning pain is essential to life and I don't care if I have to feel it a thousand times I know I'll find him eventually and it'll be the happiest day of my lives." the old bird said as he tightened his fist grasping onto his husband's wedding ring "Very well if thats what you truly wish for then I have no objections." the Robin said as he lead the old bird to a door at the end of the road "I wish you well oh great Phoenix.' The Phoenix nods happily as he steps through the doorway walking into a flash of light