The Fenghuang flies the night like a falling star. Her cry is not more than the wind, but it is not less. It sings to those who hear it, those who are awake, those who are waiting for anything. It is the cry of the firefly, the cry of all bliss, the melody of the Queen of Birds.
What sight is more beautiful than she? Knowing this, the eyes sting with tears. We see her once but not again – perhaps some other sky a hundred years from now will know her. When the omens are ripe. When the future gleams afresh with golden promise.
All grace, all fire, the breath of life in its most primal shape, she is still singing as she crosses the horizon, seeking the sun.
Image Credit: suwoh5
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