Burd

It’s been exactly one month since I left Svalbard. My situation, it must be said, leaves much to be desired. I’m currently somewhere in the middle of Denmark; I have escaped boredom, abduction and death itself. Luckily my loyal friend Svenbärd has flown over 1000 kilometers to save me from a worse fate, despite the fact that his kind isn’t in any way migratory. A morsel of doubt has meanwhile crept aboard my mind as to the sagacity of this whole undertaking. It is mainly Svenbärd who has voiced some reservations concerning his earlier assessments. “Maybe,” he said, “it’s not, after all, the devil who is behind the incongruencies that we witnessed back on Svalbard. Perhaps the explanation is to be sought in the constellation of our planetary system. I’ve been reading up on the matter and I’ve stumbled on some interesting facts. For instance…” However it may, I have decided, rather than retrace my steps up north, to continue downward, southbound. At least for a while, it is good to travel, but perhaps one needs to bestow one’s trust a little more judiciously. I said goodbye to Svenbärd this morning. “What are you going to do?” I asked. “Perhaps I shall, how do the Americans put it, ‘stick around’ for a while, see what the land has to offer to an old and wise burd such as myself.” “Don’t you mean ‘bird’?” I asked. “Yes, well, you see, I caught this rather sizeable fish the other day. Delicious. But a small bone of it has lodged itself about the mucous membrane of my pharynx. Ever since it has proven difficult at best to pronounce the wurd correctly.” “You mean ‘word’?” “Yes, exactly, wird.” “What about other words containing an ‘i’?” “No, they seem to be fine, it’s just ‘bird’ somehow. Very awkward.” “Do you know of the lands that lie beneath this Mark of Danes?” “Yes, I have read a traveler’s account. Or, wait. No, I met someone once that read a book about tulips. Yes, that’s correct. Tulips. Apparently these people are very fond of cheese.” “What of carrots?” “Yes, yes,” Svenbärd answered a little distracted, “that too.” We said goodbye thus, each going our separate ways. “I’ll be around, just leave word with the friendly animals you meet. This way I can find you easily if anything’s the matter,” he said. “Sure will,” I shouted as he languidly flapped his large wings in the flurry of dried leafs that coiled up in turmoil. “Thanks again! If you happen to run into Cassandra, tell her I am fine and that she’s not to blame herself.” “Sure wull,” he squeaked, disappearing as a dot on the horizon. Svenbärd might be the smartest friend I have.