Where the glass flowers bloom

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The waves of sunlight run. They clasp and intertwine their render fingers of rays so that the greater ocean of luminance could wash over the rise of a new day.
The brightness of white breaks it celestial body into the seven petals. True and pure colours.
This magic of endless creation knows no name to be called by, and no word to be referred with. And still, it has that core of liveliness, that makes any living being to grasp what it is. As if one managed to catch a petal with his hand.
A Bird wakes up to the morning tide of light. It washes its little head in warm streams that are dancing in the wind. It has the feathers of sky right before the dawn, and eyes of old gild which hides its treasures. The Bird looks around with its curious heart, and it feasts on the sudden reflection.
«These rays remind me of glass, and these colours are made of vanilla petals», the heart says. So that with each and every beating inside its blood, the Bird grows curious, if there was a place, where the glass flowers could stand in bloom?
Its eyes grow restless – they want to look for.
Its feathers grow restless – they want to search for.
Its mind becomes restless – it wants to find out.
So the Bird flies up.
The way lies wide and calls to a place far beyond the thick line of the horizon. To the very End of the World, where all the birds find their mothernest, and each of them feels its own road to it.
«Such a journey may cost me long», thinks the Bird to itself, and then decides to make a brief stop near its favourite fountain. The water there was always to the Birds liking, so it wants to hold onto that sweetness if the nights grow cold.
Near the brim of the trembling mirror of water, it finds itself two companions. The Sky Bird says, that it was always eager to know what the sky there looks like.
«Will it still resemble the colour of my feathers, I wonder? Or should I ask, if I could still call myself the Sky Bird at the End of the World…», so twitters the sound voice.
While the Bird of Rainbow states proudly its resolve: «I know you will have much more of a funny fly with me!». It holds its coal-black head with white pearls of eyes smiling and high. And the ones around cannot help but rejoice. The upper feathers of it are dark as the night robbed of all the stars, but underneath that cloak of mystery, no colour is repeated twice.
The Bird gladly accepts a new company, whilst its gildish eyes with sharp hues of mustard are lovingly laughing.
«They never ever been to it, – the Bird thinks to itself, – So the more grateful they are to find a fair guide».
The Sky Bird and the Bird of Rainbow were still young and reminded of green leaves trembling under the wind. While the Bird, which already knew what kind of song it likes to sing the most, gave out a feeling of never-ending and never-stopping rock of the waves at the thick line of the horizon.
The three of them flew up to the sky.
The way ahead was long, but now it caused neither gloom nor weariness. The bluish eyes of the Sky Bird were shining brighter then the sun, and every feather of the Bird of Rainbow hid sincere happiness in each strike. The Bird would never tell it, but it knew one thing to be true: its road to find the glass flowers was always the one to walk alone, and yet it was never meant to be lonely.
When the circle of day has crossed the point of noon and almost reached the line of an early evening, three birds have reached a wide desert. A lone bird was watching them from below but told nothing. It has neither welcomed them nor told them to fly away. It looked like a mirage, or a ghost of liveliness this land had forgotten long time ago.
The birds landed right in front of it, only to witness how terribly right their thoughts are. A bird of prey had no pride, no courage, and no will to fly in its eyes. Its feathers grew covered in sands that much, so no pattern was seen.
– Who are you? – asked the Sky Bird, as its voice almost trembled.
– I am a Bird of Desert, I live here.
– You are a Bird of Desert because you live here? – twittered the Bird of Rainbow.
– No. I am a Bird of Desert because it belongs to me.
The Bird asked nothing. It tore away one of its sapphire feathers and gave it to the Bird of Desert.
– It’s not a magical feather, but it’s mine. It belongs to me and I can do anything with it. And so you should try yourself, – the Bird smiled and soared high above.
Two birds followed after it, to hear the sweet singing voice.
– There was a Bird of Dreams, that ruled over the land somewhere in between the sphere of noon and the sphere of a young evening. There wasn’t a wish it could not make true, as long as it was made under its reign. The Land of Dreams was flourishing with colours and flowers long before I came to this world. But one day it became a desert, and no one seems to remember of it anymore.
– But why did it happen? – asked the Sky Bird.
– Nobody came, right? – answered the Bird of the Rainbow.
The Bird told nothing to it. It was a thing that everyone should understand by himself.
A wish is to be granted if it is wished.
A hand will be given if it is asked for.
A hope will be born if you are ready to bear it.
The Bird knew a lot more than there was to be told.
When the evening began turning red, three birds were flying over vast Desolation. The Sky Bird wanted to ask, but it was scared to hear an answer. The Bird of Rainbow wanted to ask, but it wasn’t sure if it could stand the words it will get.
Flying silently over it, the Sky Bird has got to notice, that where a sudden petal brought by the wind has touched the burned-like ground, a bluish ribbon of a tiny stream appeared. The little bird tore away a warm feather from somewhere around its heart and flew lower to lay it into the water.
The Bird told nothing to it. It led its companions to the forest beyond that land. In order to reach the End of the World, three birds were supposed to fly through the night ahead of them, so it’s better they got some rest.
***
There was a land, which was no different from any other. Until one day it was coldheartedly bewitched. The plants have started to grow so fast as if to make no rooms for trees to land their roots. The tree grew wide so wildly so that no bird could reach the sky and rotted on the land. The animals started fighting only to entertain themselves. And that inconsolable land could never change a thing, only watching its children destroy each other in grave despair. No living knows who was the one to cast a spell. And no living knows a way give it proper condolences.
Only the wind, which roams around the world and brings together every living thing, keeps bringing tender petals and mighty seeds to that Desolation every day since the war ceased to exist on it. The land never accepted, but never has it rejected these gifts. It only broke away in tears of warm streams each time a piece of life has touched it scarred skin.
***
When the moon has stood up high, three birds have continued their journey. It was the last part of it, but also the hardest one.
«Flying through this night will fill like the long life spent in tears. But that’s the only way to reach out to where the new day is coming from», so told the Bird.
The Sky Bird and the Bird of Rainbow believed in it, but had no way to imagine, how was that possible.
Three birds flew silently through the night. The moon was round above them, but it was dim amidst the sky. The stars were innumerous around them, but it was dim amidst the sky. The misty clouds scattered all around were twinkling in an indescribably magical way, but it was dim amidst the sky.
The little birds grew scary, but the Bird has told nothing again.
The Sky Bird wanted to ask, for what reason the Bird searched for the glass flowers, but didn’t find courage. The Bird was considering if it should answer that easily guessed unspoken question.
But should the silence be bothered, in order to say: «i want to find myself a place to be»
The silence here is solemn, and the wicked ghost of something inevitable doth spoke in it instead.
Until one sudden instant, the Bird of Rainbow has dived deep into the twinkling mist beside it. It soaked its feathers with sparkle so that it didn’t bother its flight.
Re-birthing from that cloud of mist, the Bird of Rainbow laughed so loud, that the very stars above have resonated to it, and their blessed light has found its way into the solemnity of darkness.
Colorful feathers were twinkling. Their tones were changing every instant only to become more and more bright. The Bird of Rainbow was flying around its friends in kaleidoscopic spiral.
And other birds smiled to it.
The Sky Bird understood, that no beginning is made without an end.
And the Bird told nothing. It only got amazed how easy that little heart of happiness has found its way through the darkness, and now was burning like a guiding light.
When the morning has opened its eyes right above the horizon, three birds were approaching the End of the Earth.
– And where exactly we are going to? – asked the Sky Bird.
– Where the life will take us, – replied the Bird with a smile.
The Bird of Rainbow laughed and told nothing. The Sky Bird wanted to ask what it was so funny about it when suddenly understood.
Its eyes of the colour of sunrise have finally caught a glimpse of the sky above the End of the World.
The Sky Bird has reached its destination. The Bird of the Rainbow has found its own while still in the night. And the Bird was the last one to find a meadow of the glass flowers near the very end of the End of the World.
The flowers stood in proud bloom. It was still the beginning of summer. Each one had an ordinary green stem and grew one petal a day.
With the first blink of an eye of the day, the petal appeared. With the second one, little droplets of glass were coming out on it like morning dew. By the dusk, there were so many of them, that the petal became covered in glass, and turned glassy itself.
The night was their time to bloom. Reflecting the moonlight and scattering the twinkle of stars, the glass flowers are ones to never close their petals. The wind of autumn was collapsing them into one another, and the first frost of winter was meant to break the ones who survived. The voice of the breaking glass was so beautiful, so the Bird has decided to never come back from where it sings.
The Sky Bird has returned to the desert, only to find there a prosperous wonderland in fool bloom. The Bird of the Desert was smiling at it and gladly accepted its wish to find there a home. On each morning of every spring to come the Sky Bird took one seed into its beak and brought it to the Desolation. The land has accepted its gifts. So it finally started to recover again.
The Bird of the Rainbow chose no place to live. It wanted to live to the world, so anyone could get a chance to rejoice in its colorful feathers. It traveled around it its whole life and was never alone.
Three birds has found out the same thing to be true.
«The one is free only then when one has the freedom to make his own choices»

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