Close your eyes and breathe.
Breathe slowly.
Float along your breath like waves on the ocean.
I will tell you a story from long ago,
And just yesterday,
From anywhere,
And just here,
In these mountains.
There was a girl named Wren,
Named for the house Wren,
That industrious little bird who builds her nest from whatever she finds,
And sings her song before any hint of sunrise.
In the spring,
Wren's mother left them,
Her father,
And her baby brother,
And her.
Summer came,
And her father had more work,
And was out most days.
So Wren took care of her brother.
Since their mother had left,
He could not fall asleep.
At bedtime,
Hour upon hour would crawl by,
Until,
Finally,
Near dawn,
He'd fall off into a fitful,
Brief spell of rest.
Her brother grew weaker each day of spring,
And late spring,
And early summer.
Now,
He no longer begged to go with Wren to hunt in the creek for crawdads,
Or explore across the road where the field teemed with the busy lives of beetles and butterflies.
The father began to despair.
He did not know what to do.
He took his son to the doctor in town,
But the doctor told him the child's insomnia was only too much worry.
His body and mind must calm down in order to reach sleep,
The doctor said.
The father did not understand,
And,
Hopeless,
Took the boy back home.
Wren saw how,
Sometimes,
Her brother sat at the front window and cried.
Or,
Sometimes,
He threw his favorite robot toy onto the floor,
Shouting at it.
Or,
Sometimes,
He was silent for hours,
Chewing at his fingers as he went from room to room.
The father had no power to bring the mother home to hold the boy,
Comfort him,
And give him rest.
Wren,
For all she tried,
Could not help him either.
Not warm milk or hot baths,
Not twinkle,
Twinkle,
Or the little rabbit nightlight,
Not even the pillow she sewed him with dry lavender inside.
He could not be comforted,
And his joy faded like a paper cup left in a window.
The only thing Wren had not done was to ask for help from two trees.
Some people in town were afraid of the old man and told scare stories about his strange doings with stones,
Feathers,
And animal bones.
But others said he was a healer from many generations back,
All the way to Cherokee land and West Africa.
After a terrible night and a morning when her baby brother could not get out of bed,
Wren decided to find two trees.
Out beyond the end of Ray Brown Road,
Where the gravel begins,
She walked past fields of tobacco with leaves so green they were black,
Past a muddy farm with Shetland ponies and a barn that leaned as if struck by a great wind.
She walked.
Wren found his trailer in a clearing in the woods,
Tin roof with three crows sitting in a row,
His yard golden with dandelions,
His front door open to sunlight,
Two big hounds trotting up to nose her a gentle greeting.
Two trees stepped out as if he'd expected her.
Wren liked his wrinkled face,
Right off,
And his big teeth,
His skinny neck.
She liked his long,
Gray horse hair and soft eyes,
Smiling.
He pointed to his old beach chairs in the yard and said,
Come sit and I will listen.
Wren felt shy,
But her words broke loose from her heart and ran.
She told him about her mother and how she didn't know why she went away from home and left him and about her dad and his sad hands and all his work and her little brother and the nights with no sleep and the doctor who said it was worry.
Two trees nodded and closed his eyes for a long moment,
Only the sound of crickets ticking in the sunlit grass.
Just when Wren thought maybe he had fallen asleep,
Two trees said,
You will need to gather three songs to help your brother.
Each song carried inside it a pearl of comfort that would heal what kept him wakeful.
The first song for the body and its bracing.
The second for the mind and all its thoughts.
The third for the heart and its most hidden wounds.
Two trees instructed Wren.
She must seek each song pearl from its keeper who will give her a teaching.
Two trees walked her past his yard to the gravel road.
He pointed at the nearest mountain.
To be given the first song pearl,
Hike to the ridgetop where the stone people live.
Find the biggest stone.
You'll see it on a grassy bald where the hawks circle and one twisted mountain laurel keeps it company.
Climb onto this stone and sit in stillness.
Sit from when the sun rises until it hangs hot above you in the sky.
Listen to the stone say,
Stop.
No movement.
No doing to be done.
Then the song pearl will come.
Under early dark,
Wren set out for the ridgetop.
She found the biggest stone and climbed up.
There she sat as the thin light of morning spread over her and she wanted to shake her arms.
As the mid-morning warmth met her face and she wanted to walk,
Surely she should get up and look for the song pearl.
As the late morning sun struck her legs and she wanted to run,
Run,
Run.
Or maybe just find a new place to sit.
But when the sun was high above her,
She had not moved at all.
She had simply waited.
There was nothing else to do.
She closed her eyes just to be in her own little dark for a moment.
And when she opened her eyes,
She saw the song pearl.
Right there beside her,
Flashing silvery under the sun.
Wren returned to Two Trees and his trailer in the clearing among the elms.
She unfurled her palm to show him the song pearl for the body.
He nodded and she returned it to her shirt pocket,
Hoping it would help her brother.
Two Trees told her the next step.
To be given the second song pearl,
You must learn from the water people.
At twilight,
Bring what you have kept very close to you to the banks of the river and release it to the water.
Let it flow along its own path away from you.
Wren went home and took from her secret box the goodbye note that her mother had left at the foot of her bed.
Every night,
She had read this note over and over,
Searching beneath the words for the reason her mother had gone,
Looking for clues about how they might be together again.
Where?
When?
What if?
But Two Trees had said to give the river all of her figuring out,
Her holding on,
All of her planning for and thinking through and going back over.
So she brought the letter to the river.
The first task with the stone people was simple enough,
But the task with the water people was harder.
Wren paced up and down the river bank until daylight went and the mountain slid like a black snake into its hole.
In the dimness,
She took the soft,
Worn paper from her pocket and opened it.
She buried her face in its folds and breathed.
The smell of her mother,
If she could just breathe deep enough.
She held it to her heart and dropped it into the current and it was gone.
She had never felt so alone.
As a small girl,
She had liked to do things by herself,
But this was a new kind of lonely.
It was a place where only she could be.
Not even her thinking or planning or remembering or worrying could give her company.
So she stayed with her lonely and cried for it.
Then,
Watching the movement of the water under the moonlight,
She saw the song pearl shining beneath the current like a steady,
Bluish eye.
She waded in and took it from the rock it rested on.
She dropped it in her pocket and walked home with the dark hanging between fireflies.
The next day,
Wren returned to Two Trees at his trailer in the clearing among the elms.
She liked his home.
In its small windows,
The green mushroom and orange butterfly curtains,
The two big hounds at heel,
His circle of stones in the yard,
And the troop of wild turkeys wandering out back.
Wren showed Two Trees the bluish song pearl for the mind and he smiled.
Then he told her she must learn from the deer people to be given the final song pearl with its comfort for the heart.
Under the stars,
She must find where their herd sleeps together in the wide meadow between mountains.
They will let her join them if she asks.
If she can trust them,
The deer will make a place for her and keep her safe.
When Wren left her house that night,
Darkness came around her as dusky and thick as fur.
But above the line of trees,
A moon,
A cradling white.
She wove through tall grasses and the rhythmic clicking of insects.
Until she found the deer bedded down in the center of the meadow.
Feeling like an intruder,
She froze,
Afraid to be seen.
She wanted to turn back.
But Two Trees had told her to believe that she could belong and be safe.
So she moved closer.
They had smelled her long before she arrived.
And Two Does had raised their heads,
Waiting for her.
They looked at her gently,
Their dark eyes shining like the deepest well.
Under their gaze,
Her heart opened.
And Wren felt her true pain.
How much she needed to know that she was wanted.
She dropped to her knees and spoke.
She was tired,
She said,
And scared to be out in the open all night.
The Two Does made room for Wren among their own fawns.
She nestled into the warm pocket of their bodies,
Protected by the mothers.
Sometime in the night,
A pair of wolves came to the edge of the woods,
Yipping and barking,
Howling in the dark.
She heard them and fell back asleep.
In the morning when she woke,
The herd had gone.
Wren lay inside the nest of flattened grass left by their bodies.
From here,
She saw only sky,
Dirt,
Milkweed and timothy.
But beside her,
Resting on its own,
Was a single yellowy pearl.
Carefully,
Wren put it in her shirt pocket and stood to go back to the trailer in the clearing among elms,
Where she knew her friend waited.
Two trees sat on his front step,
Drinking coffee,
One hound on each side.
All three seemed to smile at her as she crossed the yard.
Wren took all three pearls from her shirt pocket and held them out in her hand.
The songpearls,
Alive with their own shimmering.
The stone people had taught Wren to be still.
The water people to let go of her thinking.
And the deer people to find safety in belonging.
So,
Two trees told her what to do next.
Keep the pearls in the pocket over your heart,
He said,
Until tonight,
When you tuck him into bed.
Take the silvery pearl out and place it on the bedside table.
Breathe as slowly as you can.
And the song for the body will unfold from inside you and your mouth will sing it.
Wait and watch what happens with your brother.
Then do the same with the bluish pearl.
Set it down and breathe deeply.
And the song for the mind will unwind across your tongue and you will sing it.
Wait and watch how your brother responds.
Then set the last yellowy pearl on the table with the others.
Breathe down into the well of your heart.
And its song will climb into your voice and you will sing it until the healing is done.
Wren thanked Two Trees for his help and offered him in return the most valuable thing she could.
Her mother's little rosewood jewelry box,
Carved in the shape of a turtle with its shell for a lid.
She held out her gift to him,
But Two Trees closed her hands around it.
He said,
Turtle is Earth Mother.
She belongs to you and you belong to her.
Wren said goodbye to Two Trees and headed home,
Back down Ray Brown Road,
All the way to the end of the gravel and the beginning of trailer parks and churches,
Flower beds and trampolines and satellite dishes.
That night,
As her brother snuggled into bed and watched her,
Wren took out the silvery pearl and placed it on the table beside him.
She closed her eyes and breathed slowly.
And the song unfolded.
Sleep baby bluebird in the tree top.
When the wind blow your little nest will rock.
When the bough breaks your little wings will fly.
Off into dreamland all.
Sleep baby redbird.
Sleep baby blackbird.
Your little wings will fly off into dreamland.
On the covers,
Her brother's little fists loosened and his arms went still.
He blinked slowly now,
Looking at Wren and half smiling.
Wren took out the bluish pearl and set it on the bedside table.
She closed her eyes and breathed deeply.
She felt the song begin to unwind.
Another day of work is done with the setting of the sun.
Time for us to find our beds.
A quiet place to rest our heads.
Good night.
Sleep tight.
Close your eyes and you can see the night dove wing from the land of sleep.
Through the darkness the night dove flies to bring you a dream it will be all around.
Your whole world is silver now with mystery all around.
The lids of her brother's eyes fluttered and closed.
His jaw dropped gently open and one of his legs twitched like a horse let out of stable.
Wren pulled out the last yellowy pearl and placed it on the bedside table next to the silvery song pearl and the bluish song pearl.
And now she knew to simply breathe and wait for the song to offer itself.
Deep from the well of her chest it vibrated as a hum then rose into voice,
Into words.
Oh mother,
Mother won't you Oh my mother,
Mama won't you please I'm a stone girl,
Got these mountains for a mine I'm a stone girl,
Got these mountains for my home But I'm a little child at night.
Wren heard the heavy thrum of crickets beyond the window and somewhere farther the call of a bard owl.
She felt alone but also with herself and that was a safe place to be.
As her own drowsiness came on she whispered goodnight you hard blue hills and fields of tobacco goodnight riverbank in moonlight and mama deer in the meadow goodnight elm and hickory and sycamore trees goodnight shaggy ponies by the fence and the old barn leaning goodnight wild turkeys out back and hoot owl hunting goodnight tin trailer in a clearing circle of stones and crows on the roof goodnight my father,
My brother,
My healer man who helped me I have sung all your songs,
Now sing me to sleep.
Her voice,
Known by the little boy even in a stubborn dark or underwater or from miles away,
How it lay across him like a blanket and brought him peace.
The room was quiet only the humming fan and the sound of their breathing like two twin waves rolling on the ocean The End
