Most of the backyard consisted of Aunt’s flower garden. Some flowers only opened in the morning light. Some flowers wilted and died as soon as the sun rays touched them. There were big, plate-sized blooms and long, hanging clusters. Pink pom-poms covered the ground, each tiny pink petal tipped with a yellow glob of pollen. Butterflies fluttered everywhere. She sat on a bench and watched the goldfish darting back and forth underneath the lilies in their pond. Fierce dragonflies perched on the giant fern fronds overhanging the water. They each sat for a moment, polished their giant eyes with their front legs, and then zipped back to the sky. Smaller damselflies fluttered closer to the surface of the pond. Their colorful bodies and dainty wing beats reminded her of ballet dancers. Olivia had always wanted to take ballet lessons like some of the girls in her class. Even jazz dancing. The only dance she knew how to do was polka. Polka dancing was fun and she could polka all night long at weddings. But everyone can polka, even Dad. No one would pay to see you polka. No audience would jump to its feet with excitement. She wanted to dance up in the air, with nice slippers, and violins, and flying silks. Just once, she wanted everyone to think that she, Olivia Brophie, was the most fantastic dancer in the world.
She looked up and saw Uncle on the other side of the yard. He was wearing a huge straw hat. Olivia almost yelled to him, but he seemed so busy that she just watched him slowly cross the yard. He carried a hammer and a very large birdhouse back to the fence by the trees. The birdhouse was as tall as he was. He had built it out of a hollowed-out log. The roof was covered with thick bark and peaked up into fine gables. A cross perched at the top of an elegant steeple. Twelve tall windows circled around the structure and each was painted to mimic stained glass. Sparkling crystals hung from the corners. It reminded her of a rustic cathedral or a log cabin church. Olivia could see that it had an extra-large hole cut into an arch for the birds to enter. Uncle found a spot on the fence that could support the colossal church and hammered it securely with three thick, silver nails. She ducked behind a big red hibiscus bush to get a better view. Uncle stepped back and looked up into the tops of the trees. The yellow morning sunlight glowed on the leaves as the mist rose up and disappeared into the sky.
“That old fool,” Olivia thought, “he thinks the birds are just going to fly inside with him standing there.”
She was about to step out from behind the bush and tell Uncle to back up if he wants the birds to come, but then she noticed something up in the trees. Something big shifted and stretched its legs. Olivia waited for some strange, stupid Florida bird to flap its wings. The only things she could see were oak leaves, pine needles, and branches. She squinted and tried to focus on the movement. Slowly, on wire-thin legs, an enormous walkingstick insect turned its long, skinny body around and started walking down the tree. Its body was ebony-black and shiny with two bright white stripes running along the back. She didn’t think an insect could be this large. It looked big enough to carry a small dog up into the oaks. Its face, like all insects, was expressionless. But there was an air of peace and contemplation about it. It didn’t freak her out at all like the roach she saw last night or the wasps that used to prowl the screen porch back home. How had she not seen it there before?
Suddenly, all over the branches, the leaves came to life. Hundreds of walkingsticks marched silently down to the birdhouse. Slowly. Deliberately. They stepped carefully among the shifting leaves. An ancient arboreal tribe emerged. Olivia held her breath. One by one, they lowered their heads into the opening of the new church and slid their long bodies inside. She heard Uncle speaking gently to them. His voice was a faint comfort on the breeze. “Yes, I knew you would like it. There, there. Yes, there is plenty of room for everyone. You will be safe, safe in here.” A warm breeze blew. The bits of colored glass on the fence clinked like bells. Olivia closed her eyes, listening, oh listening!
Moments later she opened her eyes. Uncle was gone. Olivia stood up from behind the bush, walked over to the walkingstick church and peeked into the darkness. All she could see was a tangled mess of black legs and antennae. A strange spicy perfume wafted out of the opening. It made her sneeze.
Somewhere in the trees, a beautiful musical note whistled. It wasn’t a loud note, but in the quiet air it rang clear and sweet. What could it be? It whistled again. What a charming sound! It slid up like a question. Olivia took a step into the woods. She peered through the dwarf trees and palmettos, trying to find who, or what, it was. She started walking. The white sand slid softly under her feet. Another whistle. It was coming from beyond that pine. She walked faster. The whistler seemed to be moving away just as fast as she walked. Olivia’s feet moved faster and faster underneath her. She just had to find out what was making that beautiful noise. She ran faster and faster. A sudden wave of fear swept over her. She couldn’t stop. Something inside pushed against her muscles. Her legs were a blur. She had never run this fast in her life. It felt like the air was carrying her. Sweat soaked her clothes. She plunged through palmettos and cactus, their spines searing her skin. The oak branches scratched across her face. And then . . .
She stopped.
Exhausted, Olivia collapsed onto the sand, staring up at the blue sky. The only thing she could hear was her own heavy breathing. The whistling stopped.
“What was that all about?” she said to no one in particular. She looked to her side. There, on the edge of the brush, stood a brown bird the size of a chicken. Olivia tried to sit up, but she was so exhausted she couldn’t move. Her arms and legs felt heavy as concrete. She could see twenty more birds standing behind it. Maybe more. The bird looked right into her eyes and tilted its head. It was contemplating her. A cold chill poured through her skin. She struggled to her feet. Wobbling, she yelled, “Go! Go!” and swung her arms wildly. A strange humming noise grew in her ears. It sounded like chanting from far away. It sounded like a screeching train, louder, louder until she thought her eardrums would burst.
“Hello? Are you OK? Wake up! Hello? If you don’t get up the ants are going to get ya.”
Olivia felt dizzy. She had passed out. She tried to open her eyes but the sun came rushing in. Someone was poking her side with a stick.
“Sit up. There are ants all over.”
She swatted at the stick with her arm and sat up. Sand shook out of her messed up hair. The rude person poked her with the stick again.
“Knock it off,” she snipped.
“Are you OK?”
“I’m fine,” she said reaching down to her ankles. “Ouch!” There were cactus spines and blood all over her shins.
“Here. Let me help you up.”
Olivia squinted up to see a skinny boy holding his hand out to her. He had light blond hair, a buzz cut, and tiny ears. In fact, he had the tiniest ears she had ever seen.
“Come on. Get up before you get bit,” he said, grinning.
“What’s so funny?” she snapped. Olivia could see that he had a bundle of wire flags and a notebook with him.
He reached down and pulled her up.
“Thanks. Did you see any birds standing around out here?” Olivia asked.
“Huh?”
“Birds. Brown birds. Size of a chicken. Did you see any?”
“Not really. I saw a cardinal just over there. Listen, my name is Doug.”
“Oh. I’m Olivia. Thanks.”
“Are you sure you are OK?”
“Not really. The weirdest thing just happened. There was this whistle and I couldn’t find it and I ran farther and farther. . . .” Olivia saw the worried