This Morning Needs Yelling- another Billy Remix
In the beginning, Billy was only another loud mouthed baby. Unlike his sister and brother, Billy was no fast flyer. He was last out of the nest and wailed as he flapped his little wings. He was not brave and he was not a good hunter.
The one thing that made poor Billy special was his voice. Billy screamed the loudest when he was still piebald and pink and blind, all the birds could hear him cry.
“Mama, Daddy, hungry. Food. Food. Food! Food!”
The Corvidae and hawks, the sparrows and humming birds, even the penguins all learned of Billy and his legendary voice.
In the beginning, one could only hear the voices of the birds late in the mornings. Deep into bright primordial bird mornings they twittered and fluttered softly in the trees, gently waking up and feeding peeping chicks, easing themselves into a world very full of things that were not birds.
Billy looked around his lush world and burst with bird pride. His feathered friends were all so lovely in their ways, he loved the strutting peacocks and the gabbling chickens. He loved the tiny hummingbirds and their whistling snores. He loved the smart starlings and screaming cockatoos.
His kind made him feel things he could not quite articulate. The other birds tolerated Billy. He was a runt and loud and irritating, but among bird kin, he was the beloved misfit.
One morning while watching the sky turn from steel gray to soft, violent pink and orange and then finally pale yellow, Billy wanted to do something. He saw the other animals doing things, some of them trundling off to bed, others shaking off the morning dew and greeting the new day. Billy brooded.
“Billy, what are you brooding about?”
Billy tucked his head, the big raven was so pretty he could barely whisper in response. She was talking to him, of all birds she spoke to him.
“I dunno. Things.”
The big raven chucked him under his beak gently and turn to fly off chuckling to herself.
“Silly little pip.”
Billy knew the other birds laughed at him, but he didn’t care. He knew he had a gift, if only he could figure it out.
Another migration, another few weeks of poor Billy flapping his little heart out, but finding himself at the rear of the flock staring at birdy ass for hundreds of miles. Given the monotony of the view Billy had time to think and plan. He remembered from last winter that the place they spent those months was warm and had a light unlike any other he’d ever seen at dawn.
After resting for the night in a grove of pretty trees with rattly wide green leaves Billy knew what he had to do.
At the barest glimmer of deep pewter dawn Billy woke and stretched his wings, he looked around at his brethren sleeping hither and thither in the glorious trees. He found a good view and watched the light incrementally lighten until the golden moment and Billy did what Billy was born to do.
“I LOVE THIS MORNING! THIS MORNING IS FUCKING AWESOME! WE’RE BIRDS! WE LOVE MORNING! WAKE UP! TELL EVERYONE! I LOVE ALL BIRD KIND! WAKE UP, TELL THE WHOLE WORLD!”
Billy stood as tall as he could screaming into the sweet dawn light. As Billy shouted the others woke up, ruffling their feathers, squawking and making a ruckus.
Below them, something else happened.
For a moment the other animals were still and then the birds heard the chorus of disgruntled land anchored creatures.
“Shut the fuck up Billy.”
“Billy god damn it, shut up.”
The other birds soon joined Billy’s chorus. From the rooks to the ravens, the hummingbirds and finches, cockatoos and even the cranky old geese chimed in.
“WAKE UP MOTHER FUCKERS THIS IS A GLORIOUS MORNING TO BE A BIRD”
From then on, the other birds never laughed at Billy again. Every morning they rose and let their voices go. Great squawkings and peepings. Screamings and wailings from tree to tree horizon to horizon.
And so it is even this morning.
We only have mother fucking Billy to blame.