Tokens of Nature

The warm summer air is blooming with the scent of freshly disturbed soil and vibrant flowers as Abby watches her grandmother work her magic in the front yard of her homely cottage. Abby eagerly awaited her weekend visits to her grandmother's home, and adored the isolated days spent away from the hustle and bustle of city life. Grandma Rose lived up to her name, and found fulfillment in the maintenance and success of her ever-growing garden. Abby often offered her assistance, and Rose's usual kindness would briefly vanish as she swatted her granddaughter's tiny hands away. Over time, Abby discontinued taking offense to these refusals of help and began to understand that Rose was simply endlessly protective of her favourite hobby.

Rose was also an avid birdwatcher, and this hobby she was far more eager to share with Abby. On Sunday mornings, Rose would wake up a her hesitant granddaughter far earlier than Abby was prepared to accept.

"The early bird gets the worm!" Rose would cheer in her lively singsong voice, and Abby would groan in response each and every time.

Once Abby had fully regained consciousness from a long night of sweet dreams, she would rise from the rickety wooden bed her late grandfather had assembled to occupy the tiny spare bedroom in the cottage, and venture into the kitchen.

Abby sat down at the dining table covered in a delicate, cream-coloured lace tablecloth, and the fabric tickled her bare legs peeking out from beneath her fairytale nightgown. Rose would serve breakfast for the pair, homecooked and still steaming hot from the stove, and would silently pressure Abby to hurry through her meal with an intense and consistent stare. Rose was perpetually in a hurry, eager to return to her daily morning routine of birdwatching and tending her blossoming garden.

As the two completed their meals and returned their dishes to the rusting kitchen sink with a clatter, they would stumble into their shoes and venture out onto the front porch.

The porch was decorated with barrels of pink and yellow flowers, and a wooden porch swing that had aged to the point of losing its trustworthiness in supporting weight. Rose had pinned a tattered sheet along the edge of the porch in an attempt to gain some privacy despite the isolation of the cottage, and Abby and herself perched themselves on the swing behind it. Rose retrieved her binoculars and began peering into the forest of pine that blanketed the edges of the spacious property.

Abby had learned to sit in silence and maintain patience during these times. If she began to speak, Rose would abruptly hush her and wave her hand in frustration. Rose had taught Abby the importance of silence when appreciating nature, and how to avoid frightening the birds and other wildlife that may be in the area. Abby would muster all of her focus to remember this, and only rarely would slip up and ruin the moment.

As they sat together, Abby began to reflect on the knowledge her grandmother had acquired and passed on throughout her birdwatching hobby, and the passion that had begun to embrace Abby herself.

Abby's favourite species of bird was simply the crow. She was fascinated with their intelligence and capacity for memory. Once, Rose had taught Abby about the crows' tendency to remember humans who had offered them tokens and kindness, returning to their newfound human friends to return the favour with anything shiny that had fascinated them on their journeys.

Abby had begun to make friends with these creatures herself, although she still struggled to tell the ones she had befriended apart. Rose informed Abby that a group of crows was referred to as a "murder", and Abby was well aware that she had quite the group holding her in their memories but refused to use the term when speaking of them. It was a bad word, and she feared it would offend the crows if she spoke to them in that manner, leading them to disband their friendship and never return.

Her collection of buttons and other tokens of appreciation from her crow friends had grown substantially since she first began communicating with them. Abby would preserve these gifts in a tiny wooden jewelry box, decorated with a precious ballerina that would spin and play elegant lullabies upon the box being opened. Over time, the jewelry box began to overflow with these treasures to the point of failing to properly latch, and the ballerina's song would continue until it weakened and turned into a frightening ballad of misplaced tones. Eventually, the box failed to serenade entirely, and Abby grew concerned. She feared that the crows would sense their gifts lacking their usual delicate lullaby and choose to deliver them elsewhere in the future. Occasionally she could convince the ballerina to perform by tapping at it's edges. She would reluctantly begin to twirl and sing her song once again, but Abby feared that this solution could only be temporary.

One evening as Abby is pondering this newfound dilemma, her grandmother rushes into her bedroom with excitement. The interruption startles Abby, who jumps at the noise and topples the jewerly box with the crows' gifts, sending them tumbling to the wooden floor below. Rose seems not to notice Abby's sadness over this, and motions for her to follow as she turns on her heels and marches out of the room. Abby gathers herself, scoops the gifts back into their rightful home and returns it to the shelf before sulking her way out of the room after her grandmother.

The evening air is hot and humid despite the sun's retreat behind the mountains, and Abby swaps at a lingering mosquito who had overwhelmed her senses with an incessant buzzing. She brushes off the damage and takes note of her grandmother a few feet ahead, now kneeling on the ground and peering cautiously into a hole that had formed in a rotting tree along the edge of the property.

As Abby approaches, Rose puts a finger to her lips, signalling Abby to stay quiet. Abby nods in agreement and leans in to join her grandmother, curious to see what had so thoroughly captured her attention.

Inside the hole in the tree sat a family of birds, and upon closer inspection, Abby's birdwatching knowledge informed her that these creatures were a family of barn owls. She swelled with pride and puffed out her chest at her successful identification.

Rose and Abby stepped slightly backwards to allow the animals more privacy. They had seemed relatively unbothered, although cautious, prioritizing being prepared to protect their young if necessary. Abby is awestruck at the discovery, and Rose seems pleased with her reaction.

Rose and Abby mutually decide to leave the birds alone for the time being, and retreat back indoors. As Abby returns to her bedroom, she recalls her accidental disrespect to her treasures, and approaches the destruction sullenly.

"I'm sorry," she whispers to the box, "It was an accident." She hopes for a response of forgiveness, but receives none from the inanimate objects before her.

Abby crawls into bed, unable to shake the guilt that weighs her down, and drifts off to sleep.

Her dreams consist of the family of owls living peacefully on the property outside. She dreams of introducing them to the lullaby of her jewelry box and hums it to the owls, imagining the music lulling them into a restful sleep.

Abby is startled awake by the sound of clattering metal in the kitchen, and a string of curse words floating through the air from her grandmother. As her heart continues to race from the abrupt awakening, she turns her gaze to the vintage alarm clock set neatly upon her nightstand. The time reads 8:12 in the evening, and Abby is mildly frustrated with herself for wasting her day in slumber. She rolls onto her back and listens to her grandmother finish cleaning up the mess she had presumably made in the kitchen, and her footsteps begin to tiptoe away towards her own bedroom. The aging wood of the bedroom door creaks as it comes to a close, the latch clicking loudly despite Rose's attempts to be quiet to avoid waking her granddaughter.

Abby leaps up from beneath her floral sheets with an idea floating through her mind, and she swings her feet off the bed and shuffles towards the shelf housing her precious jewelry box.

Carefully opening the lid, she examines the recently disturbed buttons, rusted pennies and colourful beads. They were previously neatly organized by colour and size, but the disruption earlier in the day had not lent Abby enough time to rearrange them, and they now tumble around carelessly in the box as she taps the ballerina's shoulder to encourage her delicate song and dance.

Satisfied with the ballerina beginning to sing, Abby closes the box gently and tucks it carefully under her sleeve before making her way out of her bedroom to the worn front door of the cottage. She steps into her pink boots, admiring the faux fur decorating the rim, before struggling to unlock the rusted latch of the wooden door.

The porch creaks beneath her weight as she ventures outside, her jewelry box still glued to her side. Abby makes her way down the few porch steps as quietly as she can to avoid bringing attention of her journey to her grandmother. The boards of the stairs are beginning to slope downward from countless years of use and careless stumbling. As her feet touch the unmowed lawn below, Abby begins to trek through the grass to the edge of the property where she and her grandmother had discovered the family of barn owls.

Approaching the rotting tree, Abby takes care not to mistakenly step on any innocent insects or critters skittering through the dirt. She pauses a few feet away from the hole in the center of the massive tree, leaning forward to peer into the dark for any signs of movement or life. She sees a slight glint of tan feathers, and walks forward slowly to avoid frightening the skittish birds inside.

Once Abby has the owls in view, she notes that only the young appear to be home. Perhaps their loving parents have taken flight in search of meals for the family tonight and Abby hoped they would return soon to take care of the little ones. She felt slightly saddened by their loneliness, and wondered if they ever feared abandonment like Abby herself occasionally did when her family would leave for work or drop her off at school.

Abby takes a knee on the dirt and yellowing grass below, and untucks the jewelry box from under her arm. The treasures inside rattle against the painted wood as she sets it on the ground before her. She opens the box with care, allowing the tinkling lullaby to ring out amongst the trees. Despite the gentle volume of the ballerina's song, the forest seems to carry the music throughout it's depths, and Abby wonders if any forest-dwelling animals or fairies would perk up their ears at the unfamiliar tune.

At the base of the owls' tree, Abby begins to remove the treasures from the box one by one. She arranges them in their prior order and focuses intently on her task to ensure her creation is nothing short of perfect.

After completing her mission, Abby dusts the dirt and shards of grass from her palms and returns to her feet to admire her work. The treasures the crows had entrusted Abby with now circled the thick base of the owl's tree, which was gently swaying in the breeze and seemingly rocking the babies to sleep. Pleased with the completion of her goal, Abby skips back to the comfort of her bedroom.

Abby feared that she had disrespected the gifts she had received from the crows. Early on, each of these treasures were treated with utmost care and respect. Upon receiving a new reward, Abby would ensure it settled into it's rightful home like a missing puzzle piece amongst the others. The ballerina would spring to life without intervention upon each opening of the jewelry box. Any specks of dust that came to settle on the wood would be swept away on a daily basis, and the box sat perfectly straight atop the shelf.

Over time as the box began to overflow, Abby's carelessness began to show. Dust began to build across both the shelf and the treasure box, and Abby's compulsive straightening of the angle began to dissipate. The ballerina's song became somber and tinny, and the dancer would creak as she stuggled to maintain her usual rhythm. She seemed almost desperate for the box to return to it's state of closure, but this was unable to happen as the collection inside grew to the point of spilling over.

Abby's decision to deliver her collection to the neighbouring barn owls was intended to be a token of appreciation for her newfound friends. She hoped that they would investigate the gifts with curiosity and tenderness, and perhaps they would each choose a treasure to call their own. Abby envisioned the music box, now able to remain closed, would allow the ballerina to rest and regenerate the original strength her lullaby once held. Abby intended to return to the owls in the near future and note any progress that may have taken place in her absence.

She returns to the warmth below her covers and rests her head on her pillow, her stuffed rabbit wrapped in a tight embrace against her chest. Just as her eyes begin to flutter with impending sleep, Abby hears a gentle tapping on the window across the room from her. She reluctantly arises and makes her way towards the sound, careful not to trip over any of her toys and other clutter overtaking the floor.

She peeks around her curtain and is shocked when she deciphers the source of the tapping. On the windowsill sits a large crow, tilting it's head to examine Abby and ruffling it's ink black feathers. It was vaguely familiar to her but was difficult to identify amongst all of the other birds that had overtaken her memory.

Abby turns her gaze to the crow's feet, and notices it has brought her a gift once again.

She struggles to lift the broken latch of the window, and during her attempt the crow takes flight and retreats into the darkness. Abby manages to open the window just enough to stick her arm through and retrieve the item that had been left outside for her.

She pulls her arm back, and opens her fingers to reveal a tiny diamond earring enclosed in her palm. This was by far the most extravagant gift Abby had been blessed to receive, and her eyes widened. A giggle escaped her lips as appreciation and love grew from her heart and expanded into every inch of her body and mind.

Abby had envisioned the loss of her crow friends over her mistakes and recent disregard of caring for her collection, but the earring sparkling in the moonlight disproved her assumptions.

Her friends were unbothered, and maintained their appreciation for the little girl who had offered them nothing but kindness over her weekend visits to her grandmother's solitary cottage.

Abby used the sleeve of her shirt to dust off the surface of the shelf that once held the ballerina's jewelry box, and carefully placed the diamond earring where the box had once sat. She intended to leave the items she had presented to the owls with them, but would later return to retrieve her treasured jewerly box after the ballerina had had her time to recuperate and prepare to welcome a new collection of beautiful things gathered by residents of nature.

As Abby returned to bed and wiggled into place with her stuffed rabbit, she drifted off into peaceful sleep. She dreamt of the music of nature, the wind through the trees, and the heavy beating of wings as they travelled through the night under the light of the moon and the twinkle of stars.

As her dreams carried her through the night, they allowed Abby to fantasize about her friends in nature bringing the universe itself to her windowsill, and she would overflow with love for nature that extended to the moon and back.