The sky pouted. Grey and white clouds blocked all but one bright blue hole in the sky and Rosey and I looked through it. If we had a tall enough ladder I would have clutched her under my arm and we would have walked through it to the other side. I imagined flight. She imagined nothing but freedom.
She stood in my lap looking up, the dreaming chicken and her friend and we felt nothing but the communion of souls.
For a few minutes she stayed like that, still and warm, and then she looked deeply in my face and smiled vaguely as if surprised. A chicken smile is a miracle. It’s all expressed in the changing shade in her eyes and the tilt of her head and slight dropping of her wings. I know it when I see it and it brings peace to every part of me. There are no words because she has said everything in the tenderness of her movement. Rosey often comes back from her daydreams with that little smile. She was so lost in thought she forgot she was here or even where here might be.
We forgot ourselves as we sailed through the blue. Minutes can become hours that way for she and I.
Then we saw that the twins, normally always together were apart. Star Moon and his identical sister Dandelion are always in physical proximity and they are most often chatting. They make a small warble, then they roll that warble into a sound that is a mix between a purr and a chant. There are low and high tones sometimes in long, slow humming and other times in short bursts. It is so pleasing that anyone exposed begins to become sleepy from the calm affection traded between them.
Oddly separated in two parts of the garden they began to chat this way. Birds, as science has been kind enough to teach us, learn sounds and language the same way as people by repeating the sounds over and over in different combinations to create different meanings. It’s extraordinary to witness young birds developing this. Just another miracle in the life of a chicken. On this day standing next to Star Moon as he chatted across the room to his sister, who has a voice so lyrical it could be recorded and shared as an instrument of peace, is Henny Penny. Henny is an entirely different breed of chicken. She speaks often with her rooster in their own language which sounds more direct, tends to be slightly louder and mirrors more closely what you might expect from a chicken. Yet as she stands next to Star Moon listening to the lovely call of Dandelion I hear her pick up their language.
Henny begins with a long and slow purring, then lifts the octave to a slightly higher range and warbles a smooth and rolling sound as gently as a mother sings to her baby under a moon filled sky. For the sound of her evokes all manner of beauty and sentiment. Star Moon speaks back and Dandelion, the teacher of her language responds. The three sing gently to each other as they move through the room in and out of each other’s sight as if to say; “I’m here and everything is fine. How are things there?”
They hold each other in deep connection this way. While I cannot speak the language, my heart knows it in some primal and enduring way. I am called to it silently in reverence.
Rosey smiles her smile at me, steps off my lap and glances over her shoulder. She too calls out to me as she goes about her chicken work and she has invited me into her connection. In recalling it the tears come easily but in that moment I had no tears nor joy because there was no me as the human only the fullness of our connection which goes beyond such earthy and human emotions.
She took me to the time before there was a me or even an ancestral me. I walked with her on a new born planet and all time had no reference. She called to me. I answered in my stillness and she understood.
The song of Dandelion, Star Moon and Henny echoed through us and the others joined in happily as the hole in the sky filled with a million stars and day passed into deep night and began its way back to morning.
Locked in song and dream, love and moonlight we reveled in our oneness. For this night to morning I am chicken. I am more than I ever hoped to be.