The world of Chris Bird

I met Chris for the first time this Christmas after a long online friendship and artistic collaboration.
Above is one of his drawings he gave me and below one of his recent short stories.

I hope you like it.

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The Flower Machine

The machine moved slowly in the deepest shadows of the long night. The old forest, was so tired of the moonlight and starlight. The tall black trees sighed in admiration of the moving, breathing machine.
Outside the stone city wall the machine came to a gradual stop on the hard earth.
Curling around and around like a mechanical snake the machine reached up toward the top of the city wall.
Across the city streets there was a chill silence. Voices from streets faded, falling further and further along the dark roads.

This was not the start of the machine’s journey. Under an older moon the machine had set out to cross the cold world.

The machine consisted of a mass of iron cogs, levers, wheels and pipes. Small silver screens framed by brass and gold wire glowed along the length of the machine. The machine had been hidden away in a cave beside the sea. Formed of shells and fossils the machine had grown near the sound of the waves. In the depth of the night a crow had approached the machine and stared at the mass of shapes.
The machine had no motion, made no gesture as the crow inspected it.
The crow thought carefully about the strange forms lying in the dark of the cave.

The crow watched the machine as nearby the white waves turned emerald. The crow had its own kingdom, its own spaces.
Glancing around the crow saw that spiders and caterpillars had spread throughout the machine’s structure.

The machine knew the distances that would unfold at night stretching out beneath the stars. The machine hummed very softly as it collated the precise number of shadows in the city. It calculated the sighs and snores flowing through the city streets.
The machine also numbered the names of each street, square and plaza.
Clicking softly the machine added, counted, assessed, checked and analyzed each and every shape that it encountered.

Street cats moved toward the city wall attracted by the clicking of the machine.
The cats moved rapidly from alley to alley toward the outer wall. A clock in a faraway tower chimed as the cats reached the wall.

The machine reached over the wall to lift each cat upward. The cats once touched by the machine shone in streams of fragile, beautiful light. The cats began to merge with the machine. Metal and bronze outlines became soft as they absorbed the cat’s stares and movement.
The machine grew and grew as the people in the old city dreamt.
By dawn the machine had absorbed most of the city’s words and sounds.

The machine gleamed and shone as it reached over the city wall. Each tower and spire were absorbed slowly by the machine. From the city centre music broke and drifted away toward the faint sky.

The forest beside the city grew darker and darker turning in on itself. The trees curled closer and closer in silence. The roots of the trees moved through the land back toward the machine. The earth groaned as the roots linked up with the machine. The moon stared down nervously as the machine turned and looked up beyond the stars.