On Myths and Legends of Africa: Part 4

The White Bird

At a still pool in the Kalahari
A hunter stoops to drink.
The mirror surface
Flashes with white light
As wings spread to rise.
He looks up
But already the bird
Has flown.
Nothing in sight
But a measureless sky.
The red dust of the earth,
Thorn bushes
And the stark skeletons of rock.

From that day on
He travelled across the parched land
Seeking the bird.
“Wings so wide,” he would say,
Stretching his arms.
“White as the full moon.”
“Ah yes,” was the reply.
“We saw it.  It went that way.”

He travelled
And searched
His whole life long.
Never caught a glimpse again,
But always heard tales told.

At last in old age,
Having left the flat plains of his youth
He saw a mountain,
White on its summit.
His bones ached with age
But he climbed,
Rested,
And climbed again.

At the top he looked up
And there he saw the bird
In magnificent splendour
Hovering in an infinity of blue.
He reached up, and,
With his dying breath,
Caught one shining feather in his hand.

Across the world,
At another time,
My son, also on a quest,
Caught such a feather.

He was standing in the Pantheon of Rome
Gazing up at the sky
Seen through a hole
At the apex of the great stone dome.
A small white feather
Spiralled slowly down a shaft of sunlight.

In this numinous place,
Once a temple to all the gods,
Now dedicated to the One,
He accepted it as a gift
From the Holy Spirit…
A shining symbol
Of a glory that seems out of reach,
But given freely, by grace,
Feather by feather,
When we are ready.

More from this series soon…

On Myths and Legends of Africa: Part 1
On Myths and Legends of Africa: Part 2
On Myths and Legends of Africa: Part 3
On Myths and Legends of Africa: Part 4
On Myths and Legends of Africa: Part 5
On Myths and Legends of Africa: Part 6