Illusions of the Imagination

By Jack D. Zeidman

Enter worlds where pecans talk, heroes are imprisoned on a ship made up of the letters of the alphabet, and a magical birdhouse helps reunite a family. Explore whimsical places, where Illusions of the Imagination become a reality.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palmetto Publishing
• Release date: Mar 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9781649905109

Book preview

JOYFUL FIRES

Now that the moving people had finished organizing things, the first night in her new home would be a quiet one. Jamie Lynn January removed the barrette from her long, dark hair, and snuggled beneath the blankets, hugging the teddy bear her late mother had given to her when she was a child. Mom would have loved this cottage, she mused aloud. It might even have ended up in one of her paintings.

She kept the covers wrapped around her as she sat up to look out the circular bedroom window. Mercurial-pindot stars shone against an eternal, blue sky. No sounds could be heard, save those of the waves lapping the shoreline, and the occasional cry of a seagull. As an artist, her mother would likely have been inspired by the beauty of White Shoals; surely, she would have loved the cozy ambience of this seaside village.

She lay back down and thought about her father. She knew he loved her. Since the death of her mother, he had been reluctant to show his emotions. The reasons for this reluctance were clear; knowing that he had once been different, made it hard to accept.

He faithfully honored the memory of her mother; Jamie loved him for that. Never once had he spoken ill of her. He always praised her, both as a wife, and as a mother.

Her father was once an idealistic dreamer. He had been able to see the silver lining in every dark cloud. Within his family, his heart was an open book. That book was now closed. Perhaps, the sights, sounds, and smells of White Shoals, would encourage him to reopen it.

To Jamie's surprise, the strange sense of displacement and uncertainty that often accompanies a relocation was absent. She felt relaxed, uplifted – even optimistic. The sounds of the sea lulled her to sleep.

Lance January, forty-year-old widower, drove away, bound for a Saturday meeting at his office. Jamie stood on the doorstep and waved goodbye to him, and, for the first time in many months, he reciprocated. "He actually waved to me! she exclaimed. She watched his black jeep disappear down the road. Next time, if I’m really lucky, he’ll smile."

Jamie glanced at the ocean, a short distance below their hillside residence, marveling at the fact that she was living in a cottage by the beach. The fresh salt air invigorated her. She was eager to explore her surroundings. She had yet to see the backyard; an illness had kept her homebound the day the realtor had given her father a tour of the grounds. In the kind of insensitive oversight that was typical of her father since her mother's passing, Lance January had purchased the property that very day, without his daughter ever seeing it.

She followed the path that led to the backyard. It was quite spacious, with two orange trees, a large oak tree, lush greenery, and a colorful garden, with a sturdy birdhouse pole near the center. A stone walkway separated the garden from the trees. It was a cozy oasis of sorts. It made her smile.

She gazed at the garden. What beautiful flowers! Jamie exclaimed. When she kneeled to get a closer look, something caught her attention. There was a rustling amidst a mound of leaves; from beneath them emerged a yellow hummingbird with lavender wings.

Partially hidden by leaves and other natural debris lay a birdhouse, its arched entranceway facing upwards. Perhaps this is where the hummingbird had come from.

As she stood up, the bird flew to over to Jamie, hovered a few feet in front of her, nodded its tiny head to the right, then to the left, as though inspecting her. There was an aura around the creature, unlike anything she had ever seen before. Jamie blinked, and the hummingbird was gone. They were amazingly quick birds, darting from one place to another, as fast as the eye can see. Yet, she hadn’t actually seen her fly away; the bird was here one second, and gone the next.

She picked up the birdhouse and examined it. Dull, lifeless-brown, caked with dirt and clinging leaf-bits, the wooden habitation was in need of a little TLC. I’m gonna give you a good cleaning, she declared. Birdhouse in hand, Jamie returned to the cottage, still wondering about the hummingbird and its hasty, unseen departure.

Jamie removed pebbles and leaves from the small structure, tossing them into R2D2, otherwise known as the trash can. She took an old rag from the closet, filled a pail with warm, soapy water, and sat at the kitchen table, carefully washing the outside of the birdhouse.

She tilted the birdhouse to wash the underside, and a folded piece of paper fell out. Upon a white background, written in blue letters, were the words: MAGICAL FLIGHT OF THE HUMMINGBIRD.

Jamie unfolded the paper. The wee writing read as follows:

Once there was a girl who found a birdhouse in her backyard. She restored the fallen dwelling, then placed it back in the garden, amongst the flowers. Many hummingbirds used it as a temporary home, where they gave birth and nursed their young. Because the girl had shown kindness, she was granted one wish. She wished for happiness; it was given to her.

Keep the birdhouse for three days. On the fourth day, by the light of dawn, return it to the garden, and your wish will be granted. Long will you remember the magical flight of the hummingbird.

Jamie folded the paper and put it in her pocket. Magical hummingbirds, wishes coming true – the person who put that note in the birdhouse must have had a great imagination. If such a wonderful thing could really happen, she knew what her wish would be: she would wish, with all her heart, that her mother was still alive.

She was still looking at the birdhouse, and thinking of the promise of a wish coming true, when her father walked through the front door. He put his briefcase down alongside the couch, set his keys upon the coffee table, took a deep breath, and approached his daughter.

The worst thing about being an architect is that you’re at the mercy of someone else's vision, he complained. Taking off his tie, he added, I designed the building, gave them a model, they approved it, and now they want changes, changes, and more changes – why don’t they leave well enough alone?

Why don’t you just tell them how you feel? Jamie asked.

Sometimes, it's painfully obvious that you’re only fifteen years old, her father responded, tossing his tie upon the couch. He pointed at the birdhouse. "Where did you get that?"

I found it out back, and this too, Jamie answered. She handed him the paper. He read the message, and rolled his eyes.

You don’t believe any of this nonsense, do you? he asked, giving her back the paper. Pretty soon you’ll be telling me that fairies live underneath our garden.

Jamie took a soft drink from the refrigerator, and returned to the kitchen table. Something else happened, she said. There was a hummingbird; it got really close to me, and it was kinda like glowing.

He grimaced. Oh, brother! Before you float away, I need to get something from the car. He went outside. When he came back in, he was carrying a folder.

These are all the changes they want, he grumbled, opening his briefcase. He put the folder inside, and latched it shut. They’re intent on destroying a perfectly good design. I spent more time on this assignment than any – He stopped abruptly, a peculiar look upon his face. He walked to the kitchen table, and stared down at the birdhouse. Your mother began a painting that she never finished, he said, wistfully. There was a birdhouse in it. At that moment, he appeared vulnerable. It made Jamie think of the way he had once been, before her mother perished in a plane crash, a little over a year ago.

A wave of emotions swept over her; she could neither define nor understand them. All she knew was that her mother was at the center of this whirlwind of feelings. Do you think this is some kind of sign, Dad?

Lance January seemed to contemplate the possible connection between the birdhouse and his late wife's unfinished painting; then, his expression changed to one of controlled indifference, as if a defense mechanism had been activated to protect his emotions. It's a coincidence, Jamie. Nothing more.

He picked up his briefcase and tie, announcing, I’ll be in my room, ruining three months of work. These people never met a design they didn’t want to destroy. He walked off in a huff.

Jamie finished cleaning the birdhouse, brought it to her bedroom, and set it on her nightstand. The remainder of the afternoon was spent working on a project for her high school English class.

That night, she reflected on the intriguing affairs of the day. Was there a connection between the birdhouse and her mother's painting? What about the girl whose wish was granted? However farfetched it might be, the idea of believing in magical hummingbirds and wishes that came true, appealed to her. She decided to keep the birdhouse, and return it to the garden on the fourth day, as the note had directed. She had nothing to lose.

Jamie slept in on Sunday, and spent the afternoon reading, swimming, and sunbathing at the beach. Later, her father called to tell her he had to work late, so she made dinner for herself.

She spent a good part of the evening organizing her photographic storyline. She grouped the photos in chronological order, and labored to make the family story as clear and concise as she could. Originally, she had planned on utilizing a tri-fold display; instead, she chose to present her English project using a photo-album format.

Her father got home around eleven o’clock. He peeked in to check on her. Everything alright?

Yes, she answered, and turned off the television.

Sorry for being so late.

That's okay, Dad.

Goodnight, Jamie.

See you tomorrow.

He closed the door. She fell asleep looking at the unadorned birdhouse, wondering who had written the note, and whether or not anything extraordinary would happen when she returned it to the garden on fourth day.

The sun shone off the wings of something darting to and fro above a fragrant garden. It is her mother, in the form of a hummingbird! She delights in the nectar from the honeysuckle flowers, while sampling the beauty of every blossom within her sight. She flits to her left, then downward, retrieving a spider web from the stem of a blooming rose. The buzzing of her wings can be heard as she flies to a brightly-painted birdhouse, where she deposits the web on the nest she is constructing. There is life inside her; though the longing for a home is a seasonal instinct, it is poignant and strong, impossible to deny. So she builds, searching for stray bits of tree bark. Her sides gleam yellow and lavender, as she finds many twigs at the base of an oak tree. She takes three in her beak and returns to the birdhouse. The nest is now complete.

She sits upon the nest to prepare for the birthing. As the cycle begins, the hummingbird looks into the window of the dwelling behind where the birdhouse rests: a daughter-of-the-spirit resides there. The kindred soul smiles at her; the hummingbird knows this is the person who has rescued, restored, and replaced the home to its original location, safely above the ground where the predators roam.

The dream constricts, centering on a close-up of the person at the window: it is Jamie January. May the joyful fires of memory bring you happiness and peace, my child, the hummingbird twitters; the bird becomes Keira January, who nods her head as the dreamscape fades…

The sound of the waves slapping against the shoreline awakened her. Heartening images lingered in her mind, and she was reluctant to let go of them. Slowly, she opened her eyes. Her gaze followed the moonlight; it streamed in through her window, and landed on the surface of the birdhouse. She caught a spark of color, maybe even a design of some sort.

She rose, nearly tripped over her photo album, flipped the light switch on, and gasped. No way! she blurted. Painted on the front portion of the birdhouse was a diminutive coastal scene that could easily be depicting the very spot where she now lived!

A close check of the birdhouse revealed that only the front had been painted. The other sections remained drab and unpainted. Did Jamie miss something when she cleaned it? Had she washed away the dirt and debris from a painting that had always been there?

She took numerous photographs of the birdhouse, from different angles, for future reference.

Jamie sniffed the front of the birdhouse; there was an odor of fresh paint. She moved a finger across the seaside tableau; it didn’t smear. She was loathe to wake her father at this late hour, but something dramatic had taken place, and she wanted to share it with him.

She took the birdhouse and made her way to her father's bedroom. She knocked lightly at his door.

After numerous knocks, he answered. This better be good, came a voice that was tired and more than a little annoyed.

Something unbelievable has happened, Dad! Jamie exclaimed.

Rustling sounds, a couple of sighs, then, Do you know what time it is, Jamie?

I’m sorry, but you really should see this, she replied.

He muttered something under his breath. Is there no respite for the weary? he asked. Come on in.

She opened the door and entered his bedroom. May I turn on the light?

You might as well – it’ll make the devastation of my sleep complete.

Her father sat up in bed, his longish, brown hair in disarray, a disoriented look upon his handsome face. He squinted against the brightness of the light.

She held out the birdhouse to him. Look at the front. That wasn’t there last night.

You woke me up to talk about your birdhouse?

It wasn’t there yesterday, Jamie said. She handed him the birdhouse. He took it, grudgingly.

"What wasn’t there yesterday?" he inquired, looking at the object as though it, too, were responsible for this unwanted interruption of his slumber.

"The painting, Dad. It appeared during the night!"

"That's