Migrant Tales Literary (Aug. 22, 2007): Pre-fall blues or where happiness lives

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No bird soars too high if he soars with his own wings.
William Blake (1757-1827)

Of all the seasons that pass over the Nordic region, possibly fall is the most magical. But what makes it stand out from the rest?

Is it the pitch-darkness? Is it the vast universe above and its peppered celestial inhabitants that appear to gaze down upon us longer than usual? Yet again, could it be the sound of rustling leaves and rapid breezes that holds on for a moment to trees before losing steam?

I was certain on a late-Saturday afternoon two years ago that I’d finally succeed at finding where happiness lived.

Deep in the woods, I noticed a lone bird resting on a branch. Poor bird – I thought – it must have escaped from a farmhouse because toucans only live in the tropics.

“If you move fast and long enough you’ll be in different lands,” the bird said to my surprise in half-toucan, half- human. “In a way I envy stones because they know where their home is. They don’t move.”

“Don’t look surprised,” it continues. “There are other creatures from distant lands that inhabit these forests. Aren’t you from faraway as well?”

I followed the black bird with the brightly colored bill deeper in the woods.

The scenery looked familiar but then it started to change. A pine tree I passed had its cones pointing towards the sky and there was a spring that had the following sign: “Drink here and quench your thirst for dreams.”

There was also a modest shack that looked like a country store but only sold by the pound hugs, kisses and warm caresses.

A woman soon appeared before me just when I noticed the bird had vanished. She was blessed with so much beauty that it would take thousands of rainbows arched simultaneously in the sky to match her loveliness. I looked straight in her captivating eyes, which are like breathtaking views from space to Earth.

“So what brings you here?” she asks without malice.

“I’m searching for happiness. Can you help me find it?”

Silence and then an answer that twirls to the soft moist ground as an autumn leaf that parted from a branch.

“It’s useless for you to soar high enough by yourself… But with the help of the autumn woods we’ll show you that contentedness is right here and now.”

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