Some of the bars of the cage are of my own making: my responsibilities as a parent and my responsibilities as a daughter, sister, cousin, and granddaughter, my social obligations to friends and acquaintances. I, too, like the bird, live in a silver-lined cage. The cage, though silver-lined, is still around her, and for as long as she is inside, she will always see the world through its bars and be forever limited by its size and shape. Sure, the bird can now see the world, but she is still trapped inside the cage. While the bird sings, the old woman weaves her silver hair inside the bars of the cage, making it lighter-than-air so that the bird, though still in the cage, can fly again. One day an old woman passing by asks the bird to sing for her.
Unable to fly, the bird soundlessly sings inside her heart her longing for the open, free sky. The story tells of a yellow bird that had been caught by a hunter and was being kept in a cage near the window. My mother sent me yesterday a story by Israeli author Shlomit Cohen-Assif.
By Sigal Wilnai on Januin adventure, dreams, inspiration
