The Red Bird of Christmas

Spring's child was born on the eve of the winter solstice—a magnificent night, crisp and cold, draped in a soft and constant shawl of snow. Her healthy, rosy little boy was perfect, and since the only other thing that seemed as perfect was this night, she decided to call him Winter.

A young widow, Spring lived with her son in a small cottage that sat at the edge of a dense wood and at the foot of a rocky cliff. Even as a baby, the outdoors seemed to beckon to Winter. He cried when his crib didn't face the window. Wherever he lay, he rolled or wiggled until he could see outside. And the first time he crawled, he managed to crawl right out an open door.

Winter loved the sky and the fresh air, the trees and the earth, but mostly, Winter loved the animals. And, oh, there were many animals—birds in the trees, rabbits and mice and deer in the woods, and farm animals in the yard. Spring kept a few goats for milk, a small herd of sheep for wool to weave for their winter clothes, some chickens for their eggs.

One day, when Winter was only three years old, he was playing at the edge of the woods and found an injured robin. It was huddled against a tree trunk, shivering, with its right wing fully extended and dragging its right leg. Young as he was, Winter instinctively knew the robin was hurt.

"Poor little thing," he whispered. "I'll take you home to Mama. She'll make you feel all better."

Gingerly, he picked up the robin and carried her home. The bird's wing and leg were broken, but with Spring's help, she soon mended and became their first frequent woodland visitor. After that, Winter's favorite pastime became searching the woods for injured animals that he could bring home and heal. Once he cured them, he turned them loose. But most returned often to pay their respects or to receive a delicious treat they knew Winter would happily provide.

In fact, as Winter grew up, word of his generosity spread throughout the woods. The moment Winter stepped outside, birds fluttered from their trees and alighted on Winter's head or shoulders or outstretched arms, knowing he held some treat for them. They were never disappointed.

All living creatures sensed he meant them well. The moment he stepped into the woods, the trees seemed to embrace him in a welcoming hug and pull him inside, making him one with the nature around him. Woodland animals that crossed his path would stop and notice him but would seem to accept him as just another of their own species and would continue about their daily chores, undisturbed.

Winter blended so well in the woods, that Spring began to fear he might get hurt and lost someday and that she would be unable to find him. So, from a combination of flowers and roots, she made a scarlet dye and dyed all his clothes bright red. That way, she could spot him from a distance, whether he were in the woods, herding their sheep in the valley beyond, or playing in the snow.

And Winter loved to play in the snow. As Spring watched him from a distance, a bright spot of red against a vast blanket of white, she would smile, satisfied that he was safe, and knowing she had named him well.

The season of winter was not only his favorite because it brought him snow, it was also his favorite because that was when his animal friends needed him the most. After his morning rounds to feed the goats, sheep, and chickens, Winter spent the rest of his free time in search of an injured or hungry friend. He couldn't bear the thought of a hurt rabbit or weasel or fox lying freezing in the snow, unable to limp back to its home and unable to hunt for food.

On his searches, Winter always carried a small packet of food and some herbs, splints, and rags that made up a first-aid kit. When he found a small victim, he would tend the wound or set a broken limb, then feed the poor creature. And depending on the severity, he might bring the animal home to recover.

One particularly fierce winter, Spring warned Winter to use their rations sparingly because they didn't know how long the bad times would last, and there would be no way to get more food or supplies until the spring. That meant they would have to be very careful about sharing their food with the woodland animals.

"Don't worry, Mama," Winter told her, "I'll feed them only from my share of the food each day. I'd rather go hungry myself than have one of my little friends starve."

Spring sighed and shook her head, knowing that nothing she could say would change her son's mind. So each day, without his knowledge, she gave Winter a portion of her own food, believing that even if he gave away some of his food to the animals, Winter still would not go hungry.

Soon supplies became so scare, Winter was giving away large portions of his food. For the first time in his life, Winter knew hunger. And for the first time, he lay in bed each night, his empty stomach cramping, hoping that winter would be over. Not so much for himself, but for his friends. Because he knew that he was only one small boy and that as hard as he tried, he couldn't keep the pain of hunger away from all the animals that were touched by it.

On a crisp afternoon, when the earth was nestled beneath a thick blanket of snow and trees glistened with icicles and were topped with snowy puffs, Winter found himself near the cliff, above his mother's cottage. He was following the blood-smeared tracks of a small injured animal.

At one point, the single tracks became blurred with another set of tracks—the smaller animal was being chased and hunted by a predator. Both sets of tracks stopped at the edge of the cliff: There appeared to have been a scuffle, then the larger set of tracks trotted away.

Carefully, on his hands and knees, Winter crawled to the edge of the cliff and peered down. About four feet below, a fluffy gray rabbit huddled on a bit of rocky ledge, trembling and bleeding.

All afternoon, Spring had been watching for Winter from her window. She couldn't shake an uneasy feeling, and she was having trouble getting any of her work done. Finally, she decided to find Winter and bring him home.

As she stepped out the door, a flash of red drew her attention to the top of the snow-covered cliff. Her knees buckled at the sight, and her hand flew up to calm her thumping heart as she leaned against the door for support: Climbing down the edge of the cliff was a small figure dressed in red.

"No!" Spring screamed. "Winter, go back!"

She couldn't tell whether Winter didn't hear her, or whether he simply decided he couldn't abandon the rescue. When he reached the rabbit, he knelt beside her and tended her wound. Then he picked her up, cuddled her close for a moment, and pushed her above his head and over the top of the cliff to safety. All at once, the ledge broke apart and Winter began to slide backward down the precipice.

Spring had been holding her breath, frozen and helpless and able only to stare in terror. But the moment Winter began to slide, she fell to her knees and prayed: "Oh, God, please save my child. He's done nothing but good since he was a baby. Please, spare him!"

God always hears a mother's prayer, although He doesn't always answer in exactly the manner she might expect. So, before Winter reached bottom, he sprouted red wings and a red tail and feathers and flew safely up into the gray winter sky as a bright scarlet bird. Then he fluttered down to his mother's outstretched hand and pecked her on the cheek.

That is how the first cardinal was born.

And it's because of Winter's love of the season for which he was named that the cardinal is one of the few birds to be seen in the snow—a bright spot of red against a vast blanket of white and a symbol of Christmas, the season of giving.

If you want to read more about Cardinals, click here.

The following story, entitled "The Red Bird of Christmas", was published on December 24, 2001 in the following newspapers:

The Contra Costa Times The San Ramon Valley Times The Valley Times The West County Times

Illustrations copyright 2001 by Sarah Wilson

The Red Bird of Christmas

The Contra Costa Times
The San Ramon Valley Times
The Valley Times
The West County Times