Bellbirds
I keep the window down when I drive along the main road past the state forest and listen for the bellbirds. They are the sound of rain in the treetops on a clear day. I don’t know what they look like. I could look it up but I prefer the mystery. I imagine a bellbird is no larger than an egg cup. It’s head is the colour of polished silver melding into the breast plumage of copper beginning to oxidise, with wings of grey storm clouds spread out over the ocean, and a long tail of silken black. Something so small yet it’s voice rings clear and true. To me they are the sound of rain in the treetops on a clear day. At my funeral, the recessional be the song of the bellbirds and I will know their mystery.
A Fullness in Brevity - Adam Byatt 