12 December 2012
The Phoenix dances across the sky, blazing the atmosphere with fire brighter than the Northern Lights, rays of molten gold in the night. Its cry echoes through lonely valleys, over calm lakes and to the spot on the hill where I stand, amazed at its awesome display.
The Phoenix's call is unlike that of any bird, or any other animal that I can think of. It has a bleak, harsh kind of beauty, a cry of desperate loneliness.
There is only ever one Phoenix at a time, living its solitary existence in the mountains, and occasionally coming down from its eyrie to dance its majestic dance, blazing across the sky, until the day it dies. On that day, it will burn with a fire so intense that it cannot be directly looked at, and crumble to ashes. And out of the ashes, a new Phoenix will rise to take its place.
In the sky, the Phoenix finishes its bleak song, and swoops off back to its nest. About a minute later, an incandescent light bursts from the spot where it landed. The blinding light falters, flickers, and, after one final burst, goes out.
All is silent. Then I hear it. A new note, bright and clear, has started an exultant hymn to replace the lost one. And a bright new light rises from the ashes. I smile. It is complete.
Firebird's Lament • Opuss № I