In the time of early shadows, when the forest held more silence than song, there was a bird who did not sing — he knocked.
He did not fly high like the eagle, nor glide like the raven.
But each day, he came with purpose.
He struck the trees, again and again — never to harm, but to awaken.
The people once asked the elders,
“Why does he strike the same tree when nothing comes out?”
And the elders smiled.
“Because not every gift is given right away.
He teaches us to return.
To trust the hollow sound until it becomes full.”
When storms bent the trees, he stayed.
When the winds were still, he worked.
The woodpecker reminded them:
That effort is its own kind of song.
That knocking is sometimes how we open the soul.
They call him Nahawis — The One Who Knocks for Light.
