#10 The Cuckoo's Calling
I was reading some poems from the Summer book of Kokinshu and the poems that were written at the beginning of summermentioned the cuckoo's sound awfully lot. So, I downloaded a sample audio of the cuckoo's sounds and this came up.
Green was his favourite colour; always his favourite among everything else. The grass he sat on felt much more comfortable than his bed. As he felt closer to the mother earth that way. The trees that surround him were growing old every summer, so did he. Grow older and mature. The carving on the tree bark were indeed a spectacular art; because it came out naturally. The branches and green leaves that hover over him as his shade from the bright sun. The sun rays seeped through between the leaves every now and then. He was protected, enveloped by the love of mother earth. He felt safe.
His ears perked up as he heard a familiar sound. They were here, waiting for him as per usual. They made some sound a short while, saying hello to him. He chuckled softly, smiled and waved at them. Cuckoos. They were his friends that never fail to make him feel… better than whatever he felt the moment before. He loved listening to them, listening to their songs that varies each day. The harmony that they shared, the unity they portray. He adored them and they liked him. It was a mutual understanding between two species.
He would come to this very spot every day throughout the summer each year. It appears that this particular spot was his very place in the area, and he was grateful for it. He was welcomed by the cuckoos the first time he came here…by accident. He was a lost child, who were chasing after a kitten from the garden behind his family mansion. He had never seen the kitten anywhere before and he was curious. The kitten was shy, but he was persistent to grab hold of it. And so the kitten ran into the woods and he followed suit. Minutes later he found himself in the middle of nowhere, with nothing in sight except for trees and more trees. He was not scared, however, because the new scene before his eyes excite him. He heard the cuckoo’s calling, and it echoed around him. He knew then summer has arrived. The odd kitten was soon forgotten; he chose a spot to sit, lay against the tree and enjoy the songs brought by the birds. He could never forget the excitement, the serenity of the place. He liked it.
The reason why he loved listening to the cuckoos’ songs were that they gave him inspiration to compose songs. He was never good with words so he preferred to write it down, but in a different way. Since his second time coming to the place, he always had his music book, his pencil and his eraser with him. He would sit there all day, listening, thinking, feeling, and compose songs. Whenever a bar or two were written, he could never stop writing. His songs were wonderful; according to his family and servants, when he came home and played the songs on the piano. They praised him and thought that he could make it to the international league in music. His refusal shocked them, when he reasoned out that his compositions were merely an entertainment, and nobody except for the people in the household were allowed to listen to them. It was his way to express himself, he told them, as he was afraid that words will fail him. At times, the sound of the piano echoed throughout the corridor of the mansion; a jumpy song when he was happy, a calm and gentle song when he felt at ease, a melancholy and sentimental song when he longed for someone (this is because his beloved siblings were far away from him due to their studies, and as the youngest, he craved and longed for his siblings’ love and affection), a loud song when he was angry (this barely happened), a soft and hollow song when he was sad or unsure of something.
He have written numerous of songs that were compiled in books. They were written elegantly and with character. Even so, he still thought that he could never compose a song like how the cuckoos did effortlessly.
(Listen to cuckoo track while reading this https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lwiOzrAdNGQ)
Green was his favourite colour; always his favourite among everything else. The grass he sat on felt much more comfortable than his bed. As he felt closer to the mother earth that way. The trees that surround him were growing old every summer, so did he. Grow older and mature. The carving on the tree bark were indeed a spectacular art; because it came out naturally. The branches and green leaves that hover over him as his shade from the bright sun. The sun rays seeped through between the leaves every now and then. He was protected, enveloped by the love of mother earth. He felt safe.
His ears perked up as he heard a familiar sound. They were here, waiting for him as per usual. They made some sound a short while, saying hello to him. He chuckled softly, smiled and waved at them. Cuckoos. They were his friends that never fail to make him feel… better than whatever he felt the moment before. He loved listening to them, listening to their songs that varies each day. The harmony that they shared, the unity they portray. He adored them and they liked him. It was a mutual understanding between two species.
He would come to this very spot every day throughout the summer each year. It appears that this particular spot was his very place in the area, and he was grateful for it. He was welcomed by the cuckoos the first time he came here…by accident. He was a lost child, who were chasing after a kitten from the garden behind his family mansion. He had never seen the kitten anywhere before and he was curious. The kitten was shy, but he was persistent to grab hold of it. And so the kitten ran into the woods and he followed suit. Minutes later he found himself in the middle of nowhere, with nothing in sight except for trees and more trees. He was not scared, however, because the new scene before his eyes excite him. He heard the cuckoo’s calling, and it echoed around him. He knew then summer has arrived. The odd kitten was soon forgotten; he chose a spot to sit, lay against the tree and enjoy the songs brought by the birds. He could never forget the excitement, the serenity of the place. He liked it.
The reason why he loved listening to the cuckoos’ songs were that they gave him inspiration to compose songs. He was never good with words so he preferred to write it down, but in a different way. Since his second time coming to the place, he always had his music book, his pencil and his eraser with him. He would sit there all day, listening, thinking, feeling, and compose songs. Whenever a bar or two were written, he could never stop writing. His songs were wonderful; according to his family and servants, when he came home and played the songs on the piano. They praised him and thought that he could make it to the international league in music. His refusal shocked them, when he reasoned out that his compositions were merely an entertainment, and nobody except for the people in the household were allowed to listen to them. It was his way to express himself, he told them, as he was afraid that words will fail him. At times, the sound of the piano echoed throughout the corridor of the mansion; a jumpy song when he was happy, a calm and gentle song when he felt at ease, a melancholy and sentimental song when he longed for someone (this is because his beloved siblings were far away from him due to their studies, and as the youngest, he craved and longed for his siblings’ love and affection), a loud song when he was angry (this barely happened), a soft and hollow song when he was sad or unsure of something.
He have written numerous of songs that were compiled in books. They were written elegantly and with character. Even so, he still thought that he could never compose a song like how the cuckoos did effortlessly.
(Listen to cuckoo track while reading this https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lwiOzrAdNGQ)