The old man was sitting, where he could so often be found, under the tree.
The weather was hot and he was having trouble staying awake. He was stooped forward, concentrating on something on the ground in front of him. It was a small, brightly coloured bird. He looked up as the back gate was opened with a squeak. The man entering the garden had known him for most of his life, since they sat together in the village school. He often marvelled at the fact that their lives had gone in such widely different directions. He had studied and become sufficiently qualified to hold an administrative post in the nearby town council office. His old friend, on the other hand… well, by his early teens he’d been quite different than most. Life hadn’t been kind to him, regarding his odd behaviour and way of thinking. Over the years it had only grown worse. Most would say that he was now such an oddball and understandably suffered the derision of many in the village. Although this had always saddened him, their friendship had never wavered.
Today, the man’s demeanour was even stranger than usual. He went back to muttering and nodding at the bird. The man finally looked up, looking as though he’d been caught out.
“Well, you see, all creatures have stories,” he began, “You might say, that’s all they have. Around the globe, they all have their own stories. People, animals and insects alike.” He chuckled. “You may also consider that’s all they have. Their time here is simply made up of many stories. So many, don’t you see?”
His friend nodded. “And this one, what’s his story, he’s quite unusual, what kind of bird is it?”
“Not important; don’t you see? She is a creature. As I was saying… all creatures. I commune with them all.”
The other just shrugged.
“Anyway,” the man continued, “there’s not much going on in her world today, but I’m well up to date with her past.”
After a very long and awkward passage of silence, his visitor looked up into a blue sky, saying, “Well, you do have a good day for it. I’d better get on.” He bent and gave the man’s hand a customary shake.
As he left idyllic, green surroundings, stepping out into the back street, as always, he couldn’t help wondering about his friend. His obsession with this invisible communication he insisted he had… Could he really have that ability?
What’s more to the point, he thought, who has the right to say he hasn’t?