The rooster's dream

The rooster was standing tall, up in the dying tree. The remaining crimson leaves were flowing alongside his golden feathers. His claws were grasping the branch below, excitedly, but not without a tinge of fear in front of the horizon in front of him. Below, the gasps of the farmer and the cries of the hens were desperately trying to reach him, pleading for him to return to the ground. However, he was way too far, both in distance and in mind, staring at a dream he had long forgotten.

It all began a few years ago, when he was just a small chick. He was born in the barn, like his father and grandfather before him. Growing up, he learnt the way of the rooster, accompanying his father at dawn to sing awake the countryside. Truth be told, he would have loved to stay with his siblings, aunts and mom, embracing each other, staying far away from the cold and the morning dew. However, he had to learn from his dad, as his remaining days were counted. So, he followed, each morning, eyes still half-shut. During the day, he would train his voice, trying to imitate the loud, singing chant of his alto father. Although, most times, he could only manage a strangled sound from the bottom of his throat. He was quite desperate to fulfil everyone’s expectations, but he couldn’t feel anything other than despair when he heard the farmer’s long sigh, saw his father’s disappointed look or felt his mother’s touch, trying to console him. The days grew shorter and soon, he was not a chick anymore, but a young rooster. However, he was still far below everyone’s expectations and it had a real toll on his spirit.

One day, he could no longer bear his father’s disappointed stare and hid himself in the middle of the ferns near the pond. There, he listened to the air between the leaves, the waves through the water, the croaks of the frogs. Then, as he was drifting towards sleepiness, he heard a sound he didn’t know. He opened his eyes wide and looked towards the noise, to the sky. A ray of the sunshine blinded him at first. Then, as shadows spread across the azure, he began to see clearer. He first thought that the dark forms were clouds and he wondered if it would rain soon. However, the silhouettes were more defined and they were moving way faster than clouds. That’s when he realised. Those shadows were birds. Dozens and dozens of birds, wings spread out, flying high above him. He sometimes saw his family flying, of course, but not higher than a haystack or just to join their bed for the night. So, how were these birds able to be so high? He remained there for a long time, fascinated by those birds so similar, yet so distant from him. When they disappeared into the horizon, they left him with so many questions.

When he went back to the barn, the sky had turned from blue to orange already. He was scolded by his dad, of course. But the rebuke stung less than usual; maybe because the questions in his head covered the criticisms he had heard his entire life. He knew better than to ask his father and waited patiently for the next day. At noon, he managed to ask his mother about the birds. She laughed quietly of his naivety but answered nonetheless. Other birds? Like the ones who try sometimes to steal his meal? With deformed feet which caused them to walk so weirdly? Those were the ones who could fly so high in the sky? It made sense in a way, he thought as he looked at his own feet. They don’t seem to belong on the floor like us. Where are they going? To warmer places? Why don’t we also go to warmer places then? It is how it is, she said. Oh. He understood why they were walking differently: they had different feet. But they both had wings. He tried to spread his. My wings spread quite nicely too, he thought. So, why can’t I be high in the sky as well? It is how it is, she repeated. He knew that was the end of the conversation. But as the routine continued its pace, the other birds remained ingrained in his brain.

Autumn passed. Winter arrived. Winter passed. Spring came. And with it, the other birds. The young rooster was waiting for them. While they were away, he kept thinking about them. Sometimes, he would creep behind the barn, far away from anyone’s sight, and tried to fly like them. Those attempts were unfortunately not very successful. Maybe it was because of the cold, he thought. But as the air was getting warmer, he still couldn’t fly as high as he wanted. He had to ask the other birds for answers or advice. So he waited. And waited. Until one day, he escaped to the pond when no one was paying attention. Going through the fern, he felt his heart beat faster. Three other birds were playing in the water, oblivious to the intruder watching them. Once he got their attention, they listened carefully to his questions, with a curious look on their face. Usually, the animals from the barn would barely talk to them. What they learned seemed strange as well. Why aren’t you getting away from the cold? You have wings too, why can’t you fly higher? Can you swim at least? The young rooster never tried to swim but he could feel that it wasn’t a very good idea. He showed them his feet and they all concluded that they were not fitted for this activity. But what about his wings? Were they here just for show? They were all clueless. The other birds, now on land, demonstrated their flight technique. Unfortunately, even after several try, the young rooster was incapable to copy them. Whereas they managed to get on top of the tree, he only attained the middle of the trunk. They were sorry for him, but they couldn’t help him. Maybe it was a matter of training?

He began an intense training with one goal: landing on one of the branches of the tree. He tried. Again. And again. Several times a day. For weeks. But each time, he ended up disappointed. His training began being further apart and fewer. When autumn came back, he had given up. Sometimes, he would stare at his wings, wondering why they couldn’t do the same as the ones of the other birds. On the bright side, he finally mastered a loud and beautiful chant. Not as melodious as his dad’s but it was a start. A few months passed. His father grew ill and couldn’t do the morning call anymore. The rooster took his place, first as just a substitute, then as the only male of the barn. Seasons continued to give rhythm to life. The other birds kept doing their pendulum movement, each dawn accompanied by the rooster’s song. Sometimes, he would dream about touching the clouds, but like most events of the night, these dreams would be forgotten the next day.

All the days were the same. Dawn, chant, eat, sleep, repeat. His pace was slower and stronger; he had stopped being surprised by every noise around him. Even the farmer was just an old pal now. He had had chicks and one of them was starting his training under him. Like his father and grandfather before him. This day of autumn was supposed to be like any other. However, around the time the sky was turning orange, a flash of light caught his eye. He got closer, curious. Once he got close to the metallic ray, he saw it clearly. A ladder. But not a small one made of wood like in the barn. A big one that reached just under the first branches of the tree. He quickly understood that would be his only chance. Carefully, he fled from stair to stair, one by one. Not too fast, he thought. When his claws reached the first branch, he felt like his dream was closer than ever. Thankfully, only a few leaves were remaining, so his ascension was way smoother than anticipated. He finally reached the top of the tree and looked around him. A vast golden land was spread in front of his eyes. He was seeing way further than he ever had. He could see beyond the pond. He could see the top of the barn. He could see the back of the other birds leaving for warmer places. He was so enthralled by his vision that he did not hear the panic that was happening below. He could feel the wind through his feathers, stronger than he ever felt. He began to open his wings. But that was his mistake. Because the wind took it all: his body, the cries of terror, his rationality, the image of the barn, his chant and finally, his life. Like the leaves, he was snatched from the tree and landed on the ground, defenceless through the elements. With his big hands, the farmer took the lifeless body from the ground. Incomprehension spread among the animals. What had just happened? Eyes focused on the top of the tree where the rooster was standing so tall, it seemed like his shadow was still there.

The farmer carved a metallic statue in honour of the dreaming rooster. He then went to the top of his house, which was slightly taller than the tree. On the roof, carefully he fixed the sculpture onto the weathervane. Through this new form, he would always stand the tallest in the farm, he could see farther than any other hen, chicken, or rooster. His head would always point towards the wind, as a challenge to his nemesis who caused his fall, as a way of saying: you will never bring me down ever again. The figure became so popular that even now, you can see, high on the roof of the farms, the rooster warning from which way

the wind comes.