MONKEY AND BIRD

Monkey and Bird were the best of friends. When the sun shined, Monkey would stroll the alleys and backways of the jungle with Bird on his head; small Bird's red feathers like a cherry atop a Dutch chocolate cupcake. When the rains came, Monkey would tuck Bird under his arm, in the most gentle of ways; Bird's little red head poking out like the tongue of a Vaudevillian's blackface; giving the whole jungle a raspberry. For cover, Monkey would scale their favorite banana tree, and find dry safety and a break from the wind under its broadest leaf. Monkey would think of fire, that most mystical of nature's phenomenon, unseen by many in the animal kingdom. Monkey had seen it once, years before, when during a most powerful storm, lightning sliced a Teak tree in half and the blackened innards rose to the heavens as a crackling cry of yellows and oranges and reds. Bird would dream of flying. Bird loved to fly, as do most his kind. Bird would dream of flapping his wings as hard as he could possibly imagine, for as long as he could possibly imagine, until fatigue would bring him crashing down, tumbling into a soft bed of green grass. But there would be no snakes or cats to threaten, not in his dream. Just an out of breath bird, huffing and puffing for air, back to the ground, wings splayed out, cold and friendly raindrops pelting his belly. What one and the other was dreaming, the other could never know. Bird spoke bird and Monkey spoke monkey. But that was fine, neither cared. They knew the other would provide a quiet solace, a calm they couldn't find amongst their own breed. That was enough for the both of them.

-DyMc