The Old Man

His time is almost over. He knows that it is true.
He has lived his life, a magnificent creature but now his time wears thin.
His body aches and he feels weary but still he climbs.
In relative safety, he begins to build his pyre.
The work is tiring but all the while he sings a song precious to behold.
Soon enough, he settles himself within his resting place.
The song continues, growing in beauty as the Sun does its work.
The warmth grows within him; the warmth grows without him.
Finally, at the crescendo of his melody, his body is taken into flame and he and his pyre are reduced to ashes.

Then there is silence.

Soon, a mischievous breeze toys with the dust and the dust seems to respond.
A flock of birds has gathered around the pyre, they shiver in expectation.

Still, there is silence.

The breeze flits away to find a new game but still the ashes stir.
The birds ruffle their feathers and grow in their anticipation.

It has begun.

Slowly, the pile of ashes and dust crumbles. Within lays a new chick.
The birds coo and call.
The baby shakes itself and stretches its wings of red and gold.
Intrinsically, it knows where its destination is.

The newly risen phoenix collects the remains of its former self.
Together, it and the flock fly through the skies to Heliopolis.

City of the Sun.

© Xowie Brandt 01/03/2007