White Bird stayed with the farmer for several days. She would sit on his shoulder as he worked in the field or perch on his table as he ate his meals. Just having her there made the old man happy. “I am glad you came,” he said. “I was very lonely. My children live far away and my good wife is in Heaven. Will you make your home with me?”
“That would be a nice thing,” said the lovely white bird, “but I feel in my heart that I must go on.” She hung her head. “I think I am very, very old, Grandfather. My eyes have seen many journeys and my heart seems strangely jubilant, even though I do not know why. Today I must go on. But I will fly from your field and I will leave you the gift of hope. I know your good wife is in Heaven, but she is watching you and loving you and some day you will be together again.”
The old farmer ran a gnarled hand over her soft white feathers. “I thank you for staying with me a while and bringing happiness back into this cottage. Now I must cut more wheat. I wish I could give you something for your journey, but you could not carry it.”
White Bird flew to his shoulder. You have given me peaceful rest and companionship. That is a true gift, Grandfather.”
The old man with the white bird on his shoulder walked through the barn lot and on to the wheat field. White Bird flew from his shoulder and swept in graceful arcs back and forth before she passed from his sight.
White Bird flew over fields and forests, towns and hills. She would rest in a high tree now and then, but her path was always to the West. One day a meadow lark flew beside her. “Where are you going, White Bird?” the meadow lark asked. “And why do you not sing as I do?”
“I have forgotten where I am to go,” answered White Bird. “But I feel I must keep on in this direction. I cannot sing beautifully; I can only make a soft cooing sound.” She brought up from low in her throat a coo that had a soft bubbling sound to it. “I am useful for quieting newborn babies.” Her wings skipped a beat and she fluttered to a tree branch. “Why is that important?” she said aloud.
Meadow lark landed beside her. “What is wrong? Are you hurt?”
“No. A thought came to me and I think it is a clue. I must think about this.” And she tucked her head beneath her wing and sat very still. She was quiet so long the meadow lark flew off to find other companions.
White Bird thought until her head ached, but no new thoughts came to her and she fell asleep. She spent the day and night huddled on the tree branch. The morning sun sent rosy light glistening off her feathers and woke her from her sleep. She could hear Meadow larks singing their morning praise and a bunny and her children hopped along beneath her. The sun, the larks and the bunny family had lifted her spirits and she set off toward the west with renewed energy.
