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Spring Songs


by seciea

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This is for my kite.

   I

     am a beekadoodle kite.

     I

     fly the air.

     Soaring and swooping,

     I

     master the air.

     I recite that to myself, repeatedly, over and over again, as I try to fly for my owner: a Christmas Peophin.

     But I can't master the air. I veer right into a tree when I am about to catch the wind and glide. Or I tumble foward as I nearly complete a trick. I have never completed a trick. I don't think I'll ever, and I'd been out here more days than I can count.

     Then the rains came.

     I could not fly - I mean attempt the air when the water dropped. The Peophin could not go out when the ground was soaking. Between those two things, I could not go out for more days than I could count.

     But the winds! If I did not fly the winds - I could not be called a beekadoodle kite. I would be ridiculed.

     Humiliated at not being able to fly.

     Shamed by my peers, the other beekadoodle kites.

     Mortified.

     Dishonored.

     A disgrace.

     Just as being humiliated would be a disgrace, I would be a disgrace to all beekadoodle kites, made in honor of the beekadoodles. I would be a disgrace to all beekadoodles.

     But then came a morning: crisp and clear

     When the sunbeams were just raking the ground.

     As the winds grew high

     and the rains grew low

     that was a day made for me.

     The Christmas Peophin took me out that day. She threw me up in the air.

     And I caught the wind.

     Or the wind caught me.

     It may not matter

     But it did for me.

     For I flew! I mastered the wind! And I saw the wind: a kind, young blond air faerie. She smiled at me, and I smiled back.

     She whispered to me:

     You

     are a beekadoodle kite.

     You

     fly the air.

     Soaring and swooping,

     You

     have mastered the air.

     With the long kite tail, I wrote poems. Verses. Sonnets. Some of them you see in here. Others the Christmas Peophin recites. The beekadoodles are singers. I am a lyricist, making words to match their tunes:

     Flying through the air!

     Singing, chanting, glorying

     In our lovely song!

     We sing for Adam,

     Donna, and the others

     Who gave us our life.

     For this site, and the

     makers of Neopets! We sing

     our songs in honor

     of.

     Some, like that one, the beekadoodles sing. Others the faeries sing or recite.

     But still others, I keep to myself.

     And as I fly through the air, I can almost sing them with my painted beak.

     At least until the Peophin let me free. She cut the line, and I swooped through the air, not noticing it in my dance with that spring air faerie until we danced that beautiful dance up to Faerieland. I had never flown there before, for the string was too short.

     And that's when I noticed. I had lost a string. My string. Lost a home. My home. Lost a place to rest. I would have to dance this frenzied dance, this horrid dance, until I broke. If I were lucky, then I would land on Terror Mountain and be mended, then dance again and have my line cut. Again.

     But I was even luckier.

     The air faerie gently caught me and spun me, whirling me for the last time. Then she took me to the purple palace.

     Have you ever seen the inside? The walls are purple, ranging from a deep navy violet to a bright neon purple to a pale pastel lilac. The domed ceiling is so high, with wind I could fly in there and not feel crowded. And that's just the entry hall.

     The faerie brought me up to the queen. "I apologize that the line and reel are gone, but this is the beekadoodle kite I have flown with for a spring."

     "Is this the one that has given you so much pleasure this past season?" asked the queen, with a smile on her face.

     "Yes, my queen," she answered.

     And you said that you wish to return the favor?" continued the queen, the radiant smile growing.

     "Yes, my queen."

     "How should this be done?" she asked. It was like preneoschool. The teacher was encouraging the pupil to think.

     "I believe..." The air faerie hesitated, then took a deep breath and plowed on. "I believe that this beekadoodle kite should be a beekadoodle."

     Yes! I wanted to be a beekadoodle! I wanted to sing my songs, to dance my dances, to fly through the air during wet or dry. I wanted to choose when to dance, to choose when to sing, to choose when to fly, to choose when to glide, to choose my songs. I wanted so badly to be a beekadoodle I almost chirped. I almost flew out of the air faerie's gentle, loving hands and fly to the faerie queen's shoulder.

     Wait. I did fly to the faerie queen's shoulder. What was going on? I was a beekadoodle kite! Beekadoodle kites could not fly! Beekadoodle kites could only dance with the air, and glide on the back of the air faeries! Beekadoodle kites could not do what I was doing now!

     "Yes, yes," said the faerie queen. She gently lifted me from her shoulder. "And what will happen to the beekadoodle?"

     "I would not mind keeping her," said the air faerie quietly. I chirped in outrage. I was an it! "Or... my queen... would you mind?"

     "I would not mind," said the queen. "In fact, I want to. I will see to this. Go, get some fresh air. The water faeries are planning a big rain this afternoon." The air faerie bowed and left. "Now, test your wings, little beekadoodle." She threw me gently up in the air and my wings beat. I was a beekadoodle! I flew around. I was no longer an it. I was a she. I then circled back to the queen's side when my wings grew tired. I had no words for thank you then. So I sang her my song about her, the one where the last syllables go all over the place.

     "I... fly the world...!

     I... fly the air...!

     I...! know the world!

     I...! know the air!

     There are ones that are kind

     And ones that are mean

     And I know which are kind

     And which ones are mean.

     But Fy-o-o-o-ra!

     she flies through the air!

     Gracing the world with her smile!

     She is more than nice

     She is not mean

     She has mastered the air!

     And she has talked to me.

     Do you know... what she said?

     She gave me a pat and a hug

     when I was feeling sad.

     Then she said

     'There are things I can do!

     And any one of them

     I can do... for you.'

     But I said in return!

     'No, I could not

     for I could never repay

     such kindness that is more than flight in the air...!'"

     She stroked me and whispered in my new ear, "You can repay it. You can repay it with your beautiful song.

     So I sing for Fyora now, I tend the Hidden Tower with her, and I lull her to sleep with my gentle lullabies:

     "Sleep, sleep

     you have the power

     sleep, sleep

     you need not

     count sheep

     this night so

     sleep, sleep

     my little drea-mer..."

     And I still dance, but with Fyora. And I still make my songs. My spring songs, my ode to the first day I really flew... everything. And I still remember them all. Just ask me.

The End

 
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