AlkonostThe Bird of Paradise is of the family Paradisaeidae, from the Latin for "Prismatic rainbow of feathers". They are known for their plumage (of the males) and an other-worldly assemblage of feathers and intricate fluffs that grow around the beak, head and wings, and usually in irridescent flourishes of color that have not yet ever been combined by the painterly god of nature. Delving into the classification, they are of the sub-order Passeri which is comprised entirely of singing Songbirds. Sure, some songs are sung sweetly to the ears of us humans, though several members of the sub-order let out a simple screech; so in some regards these birds are not only concerned with their own songs but also must be intrinsically linked (arm in arm, wing in wing) with the taste of their listeners. The Bird of Paradise, then, is dressed in pure radiance and sings a song that is as perfectly pitched as any operatic wonder of our two-legged, no-winged world. These birds are color for the sake of color, and noise for the sake of noise - it makes sense that they also move just to be pretty. Cicinnurus regius is known to perform a dance: it is comprised of a series of tail-fluffing and tail-swinging (to and fro, forth and back) which gives way to a large puffing of its abdominal feathers so as to make itself look like a cotton ball, followed by a sort of pendulum-like swaying side to side. Cincinnurus will do this whether its being watched or not. On the singing side of things, Menura novaehollandiae (oft referred to as the more common "Weringerong", and even more commonly as the standard "lyre bird", after the instrument) is known for its inane knack for mimicry. The males even go so far as to construct and maintain a flattened mound of dirt which they sing and dance on during the Winter months. Most appealing in the least useful way, though, is the Weringerong's astonishingly beautiful tail.
Cyril Korolev says: "In Russian legends Alkonost is "the bird of paradise", a miraculous bird with a human face. Alkonost lays eggs on the sea-shore, then puts them into the water, becalming the sea for six or seven days; and on the sixth or seventh day Alkonost's nestlings hatch and a storm begins. Alkonost has a very loud voice; those who hear it will forget all they know and wish. "
It is even more knotted than that, though: "Alcyone was a Greek demi-goddess. She was the daughter of Aeolus and wife of Ceyx, she had a son called Eosphorus. They were very happy together, but one day, Ceyx decided to make a long journey to consult an oracle but that day, a terrible storm occurred, leaving Ceyx dead. When Alcyone saw Ceyx's body come ashore, she (whose name means 'queen who wards off storms') threw herself into the sea. Out of compassion, the gods changed the mighty waves into the halcyon birds. When Alcyone made her nest on the beach, waves threatened to destroy it. Aeolus restrained his winds and made the waves be calm during seven days in each year, so she could lay her eggs. These became known as the 'halcyon days', when storms never occur. The halcyon has become a symbol of tranquillity."
Mythical, Fictional, Actual. These are the degrees of things. The actual: A real bird with real feathers who lives among the ground and grass on a far off tropical island that we know exists. The fictional: appending to this some terribly human, terribly sentimental quality. The mythical: appending to that a human face.
Our dear Alkonost, with her wings and her voice. Her gilded voice that glides, giddy good and gosh golly glorious! Yes, there she sits, atop her branch, sing sing singing a sweet song for the ears of all or none; her feathers float down toward the same ground that our feet trample and by the grace of some god they never touch it, never mingle with the dirt of our feet. Our mighty Alkonost, face of an angel and voice of god's own grammar, she lives in her own sphere and is untouched by the fingers of life and only crosses the border into our dim area to deliver the message. We forget, we forget, we forget everything we have and everything we've known the instant our ears sense the song, and by the first bursting ring of pure clarity we are awash in nothingness and a smile grows across our stupid faces happy to not know all that we didn't even know to begin with. This bird, this real life bird, with its wings and feathers, and its actual classification among our varied kingdoms of avian species (Yes, we have named them, defined them and placed them in their own glassed in boxes) and while we may disagree over which genus or sub-order the particular example might belong to, the fact remains that they are all born from the only good tradition we have: that of paradise and tropical mysteries and all-colors mixing with pretty-sounds for the express purpose of human enjoyment. God's will or just a pretty piece of tail fluff, they dazzle and they leave us staggering in the wake of their song.
