Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The birds are there again.

The flock is flying and hovering above, with wings gracefully waving as if saying their goodbye, following wherever the autumn breeze orchestrates them. Then at last, the drift stops and their clawed feet find someplace to rest on a low hanging branch from one of the old yew trees.

And the birds see again.

It seems they arrive at the end of something, and they find as they observe. A ring of people standing under the envelopment of an oak tree’s humble and low lying leaves. The opus consisting of murmurs and low hums from the crowd down below. The perceptible natural movement of the air sometimes rifling through the blades of springy turf. Dew dripping along the tall arches of the freshly mowed jade green grass, mirroring the way the tears are streaming down on the hazel haired woman’s cheeks.

Soundlessly the birds watch as the participants of the poignant procession slowly start trickling out and leaving them behind, finally opening up the curtain of people in black to reveal the curious object that was previously surrounded by the rows of human.

With their eyes, which have became the ancient talisman that embodies the lore of a thousand lifetimes, the birds have long known and learned a thing or two about life. It also has taught them an unsung truth about autumn. The leaves do fall away and part ways from the trees, and the flowers wilt and wither away, it’s true. But the sublime colors that each drop of leaf and petal brings along makes it one of the most beautiful forms of goodbye.

But is it really a goodbye, a farewell?

Since despite all, the birds know something is different today. The fallen yet vibrant and brightly colored leaves seem to act as an assortment of confetti cascading down the cerulean sky, as another part of the celebration of the reunion of the two lovers. Besides… again the spring will come and again it’ll wake up the sleeping buds of future leaves and flowers, right?

By and by, this time the flock of birds’ black beaded eyes are all trained on one thing. Past the shade of garden-fresh white lilies standing sprays and baby blue carnations wreaths placed on its feet and among the scattered red, orange, and yellow leaves, they find the shining distraction. There is no need for them to fly close to read the engravings written in gold letters on the white marble headstone, as it gleams under the daylight.

Next to the slightly weathered down engraving, there’s a much newer inscription with a new sentence added to the epitaph, which seems to complete it. Almost as if everything has finally come into a full circle.

The birds see, and indeed they don’t know why, but they can be sure for one thing. Though the stories of humans’ lives may not last until the end of time… just like a circle that goes on in perpetuity, love does live forever.