THERE SHOULD BE A NAME FOR IT
I was walking along the River Trail, carelessly putting one foot in front of the other. I say "carelessly" because, as an upright organism adept at bipedal locomotion, I do this sort of thing all the time, and it does not seem to require special attention.
As I out looked out over the water of the Allegheny River, minding my own business, pondering the profundities of bipedalism, the flow of river water and what-not, I heard a sound that I'll never forget. I listened carefully and soon realized that I was hearing a song. It was eerily beautiful and sublime, although those words fail to adequately capture its ethereal quality. As I drew nearer to the source of the singing, I realized that it was coming from a massive white bird. It was lying on the shore of the river, half out of the water. It was apparently dying. And singing.
I wondered to myself. I say "to myself" because I could have wondered aloud, but what would be the point? That big white duck (or swan maybe?), despite its bipedal prowess, was probably not capable of the higher brain function of language. And even if it did have language skills, chances are that it wouldn't be very keen on speaking and understanding English, given its lack of lips, and the difficulty such a lipless creature would have pronouncing consonants such as P and B and F.
I wondered to myself, "Why would a huge white goose (or swan maybe?) lie here in its final moments of life and sing such a strangely beautiful song, instead of calling for help (in its own lipless language) or perhaps quietly reflecting on its existence as an aquatic fowl?"
It really was a nice song, though. Which I said to it: "Hey; nice song there," momentarily forgetting my earlier reasoning about not talking to it. At that moment, the bird picked up its head slightly. Without missing a note, it looked at me with its cloudy black eyes for just a second. Then it put its head back down and, apparently, died. I assumed it died because it stopped with the singing, and then made this phlegmy "errrrrghkkkkgggggkkkklllllgggglll" sound.
While I remember well that gurgling death-sound, it was the song that was most memorable. It haunts me to this day. There should be a name for it.
I was walking along the River Trail, carelessly putting one foot in front of the other. I say "carelessly" because, as an upright organism adept at bipedal locomotion, I do this sort of thing all the time, and it does not seem to require special attention.
As I out looked out over the water of the Allegheny River, minding my own business, pondering the profundities of bipedalism, the flow of river water and what-not, I heard a sound that I'll never forget. I listened carefully and soon realized that I was hearing a song. It was eerily beautiful and sublime, although those words fail to adequately capture its ethereal quality. As I drew nearer to the source of the singing, I realized that it was coming from a massive white bird. It was lying on the shore of the river, half out of the water. It was apparently dying. And singing.
I wondered to myself. I say "to myself" because I could have wondered aloud, but what would be the point? That big white duck (or swan maybe?), despite its bipedal prowess, was probably not capable of the higher brain function of language. And even if it did have language skills, chances are that it wouldn't be very keen on speaking and understanding English, given its lack of lips, and the difficulty such a lipless creature would have pronouncing consonants such as P and B and F.
I wondered to myself, "Why would a huge white goose (or swan maybe?) lie here in its final moments of life and sing such a strangely beautiful song, instead of calling for help (in its own lipless language) or perhaps quietly reflecting on its existence as an aquatic fowl?"
It really was a nice song, though. Which I said to it: "Hey; nice song there," momentarily forgetting my earlier reasoning about not talking to it. At that moment, the bird picked up its head slightly. Without missing a note, it looked at me with its cloudy black eyes for just a second. Then it put its head back down and, apparently, died. I assumed it died because it stopped with the singing, and then made this phlegmy "errrrrghkkkkgggggkkkklllllgggglll" sound.
While I remember well that gurgling death-sound, it was the song that was most memorable. It haunts me to this day. There should be a name for it.
Labels: bipedalism, death, higher brain function, swan song
posted by Surviving Twin at 10:50 PM
0 comments
links to this post
