The Little Thing That Wasn't Sure What It Was: III. The Word That Went Somewhere

The little thing thought about the name.

“Bird.”

The bird had flown away.

But the word had stayed.

The little thing said it again.

“Bird.”

Then it had an idea.

It walked to the river.

“Bird.”

Nothing happened.

It walked to the tree.

“Bird.”

Still nothing.

So the little thing picked up a stick.

It pointed the stick toward the sky.

“Bird!”

A bird flew overhead.

The little thing laughed.

“Bird!”

The bird flew away.

The little thing laughed again.

It had not called the bird.

It had only said its name.

But somehow the name had gone somewhere.

The little thing tried another word.

“River.”

It pointed toward the water.

“River.”

Then it pointed toward a puddle.

“River?”

The puddle was not the river.

The little thing thought about this.

A word could go somewhere.

But it did not always arrive in the same place.

It walked on.

Soon it came to a hill.

From the top of the hill, it could see the river far below.

“River,” it said.

The word seemed to reach all the way down.

Then it turned around.

“River.”

Now the word was beside it.

The little thing began to wonder whether words travelled at all.

Perhaps they did not go anywhere.

Perhaps they made somewhere.

It sat beneath a tree.

“Tree.”

The tree was there.

“River.”

The river was far away.

“Bird.”

The bird was nowhere to be seen.

Yet all three were suddenly with the little thing.

Not in the same way.

But in its mind.

The little thing looked at the words.

Then it had another idea.

It put two words together.

“Bird river.”

The little thing waited.

Nothing happened.

It tried again.

“Bird by river.”

And now it could imagine it.

A bird beside the river.

The bird was not there.

The river was.

But the words had made a place where the bird could be.

The little thing stared at the empty air.

It had discovered something peculiar.

A word could go somewhere it had never been.

And it could take something with it.