She felt as if the starlings watching her from the rooftops as she skipped down the pavement had laughter behind their marble-jet eyes.įaith worked in Ladismith’s only flower shop for Mrs Fowler, one of the local biddies. She decided to walk to work, in the hope of reproducing a tiny fragment of that feeling, but it was a fruitless exercise. Unlike most of her dreams, she could remember this one vividly and could still feel the exhilaration of flight. She had never had so much fun.įaith woke up feeling wonderful. She pursued the starling downward, toward the church, and they zoomed in and out of the tower like bullets. The bird swooped below her, then up again, taunting her, and she couldn’t resist the game. She was having too much fun up here, she replied. It looked like the same bird that had appeared at her window. What was the harm? One of the birds had flown up beside her, calling for her to come down. She could see the other starlings hovering above the church below, and a voice within told her to stay close to the group, but she was feeling rebellious and wanted to go higher. She flew for hours, feeling neither tired nor bored, relishing this new sensation of flight. The air was crisp and clear in her throat. It was a wonderful feeling, experiencing the glorious freedom of the tight air beneath her wings as the village got smaller and smaller. That night Faith dreamt she was a little black bird that flew across the skies. The bird emitted a low haunting call, then hopped to the edge of the window and flew away. And as if in reply, it whistled.įaith couldn’t resist and whistled back. The bird cocked its head towards her, although its eyes seemed to go in all directions at once. “Did you follow me home?” she asked the bird. Once she was safe inside, she was surprised to see a starling was perched in her open window. It had darkened quickly, so she hurried home. Faith laughed out loud, glad that she was the only one outside to witness the spectacle. The cold wind was whipping up chocolate wrappers and leaves into colourful whirlwinds that danced across the streets. She walked home with a skip in her step, relishing the abandoned streets, empty except for the starlings, who had scattered themselves over the lampposts and awnings of the shops. She spun on the spot, as the noisy black mass encircled her, once, then twice, before soaring into the sky like one solitary bird. The splash echoed a few seconds later, causing a flock of jet-black starlings to escape into the air around her. With those words, Faith dropped the coin into the well. Oh wishing well, grant my wish and hear my spell.” “Wishing Well, oh wishing well, grant my wish, and hear my spell, Then, checking to make sure no one was within earshot, she recited a rhyme she had learned as a child, the words forming in her mind as if by magic. She took a coin out of her pocket and held it tightly in her fist. She was certain she could make out the faint glimmer of water and a distant plop. The wooden beam across the top had rotted away, so Faith had to hold on to the sides to peer into it. Its walls were thick with climbing weed and moss, and many a brick had fallen with the passing of time, but the shape was still recognisable. On a dismal afternoon, with a cold wind hurrying everyone indoors, Faith made her way to the overgrown nook behind the church and approached the well. Faith didn’t believe the old stories, but she did believe in wishing wells.
A witch in Ladismith? She thought in disbelief. The old gossips said the last time the well had been used was to drown a witch. The mother’s wouldn’t let their children near it. There was an old tumbled down wishing well in the town that hadn’t been used in over a hundred years. So she resolved to never fall in love again, unless it was with that one person she knew was completely right for her. She wondered how many bathtubs she had filled with tears shed for unworthy suitors. And so she would meet a boy, believe him to be the man of her dreams, and invest all of herself in that blossoming romance only to see it fail. Her very name meant that hope was an essential part of her nature. Thanks to Helen for helping my little birds fly.įaith always believed that when she fell in love, it would be forever. I originally wrote this for someone, but now it’s here. This story was inspired by that little bird. This doesn’t happen very often, but when it does, it ensures a good mood for the entire day. To my father’s utter horror, a starling pops its head through my window to visit.
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