Birds of the water

My feet in the cold sand, I watch the ocean waves, listening to their ancient tales of long forgotten times. In the tree tops of the nearby rain forest, birds are singing their cheerful songs.

“Grandma, grandma”, he shouts as he runs from the hut to the beach, an old book in his hand.

“What are fish?”

Fish — I silently repeat the word that was once so familiar to me. I feel its airy texture as it slowly moves from my lips onto my tongue and from there to the top of my mouth. Fish…

“Do you see the birds in the trees there?”

He nods.

“Fish were the birds of the water”

“But, grandma, there aren’t any forests in the sea”

“No, not anymore”