Some say it originated in the Bible. Others will say it came from Viking lore. Even Shakespeare has been given credit. But for me, I know exactly the first time I heard it, this saying — “…a little birdie told me…” — it was on the party line that I wasn’t supposed to be listening to, perched (not unlike a bird ironically) on my grandfather’s chair made out of an old tractor seat underneath the kitchen telephone. My grandma was talking to one of the neighbors about one of the other neighbors. I held my chubby hand over the mouthpiece, but my gasp was still audible when the neighboring party said, “Well, a little birdie told me…” I could hear my grandma both through the line and through the house – “hang up.” I did. And ran through the screen door in search of the talking birds.

The thing is, I couldn’t ask where these special birds were, because that would be admitting to the eavesdropping, so I had to wander the farm on my own. Tree by tree. I could hear them all right, but what were they saying? I climbed each apple tree to get a closer listen. I jumped, nearly falling off the branch when my grandpa asked what I was doing. “Listening to the birds,” I said. “But I don’t know what they’re saying.” He shook his head. “Do you understand them?” I asked. He shook his head yes. I exhaled. Deflated. “What do they say?” I asked him. “Whatever I need to hear,” he smiled and walked back to the barn.

To this day, it’s not about gossip, or telling tales, it’s about listening. Sure, some will say well it’s just your heart, your head, your soul, and maybe it’s true, but I hear them, the birds, while I’m walking, anywhere in this world. They always tell me whatever I need to hear. Telling me that everything is going to be ok, great even…and hand uncovering the mouthpiece, I thank them, and tell them, “I know.”

If you ask, ” How come you’re always going on about your grandfather? What did he give you that was so great?” “Wings,” I say, “He gave me wings.”