[AUDIO DESCRIPTION: This soundscape explores the aftereffects of a large storm that time-travels our wren to a future that may await. Sounds of all kinds of birds and life inside a glass dome. The Kulintang creates tension while signifying the beauty of nature, adventure, wonder, and the animalistic feeling of adrenaline.]
The future
A torrential downpour swept along the marshlands, as a turbulent wind continued gathering speed and swerving violently every which way, excising any vegatation and plants that were unfortunate enough to be in it's path. The marsh wren, huddled in the foliage of a peruvian peppertree, was shivering against it's stripped trunk. Just as it worked up the courage to try a test flight and cautiously began to stretch out it's wings, a sudden breeze undercut it's right wing, and it wobbled unsteadily, hopping on one leg. Before it could right itself, another gust of wind swooped above it's upper back, once again causing the wren to lean to and fro like a bobblehead. The ferocious winds continued gathering speed, excavating the lake below as the wren looked on in wonderment and awe. The sky darkened ominously, as the tunnel whirling through the water erratically zipped left and right - and then suddenly without warning, barrelled toward the wren; she made a motion to take off, but it was too late - the gaping mouth of the storm had engulfed her in a roar of water and thunder.
***
A gentle azure veil rolled onto the pristine white sand, just barely grazing the wren's foot, whose body and wings were splayed out in a "T" on the shore. It lay still, with it's chest rising and falling evenly. Creeping above the horizon was a bronze sun, casting a golden glow on the shores and the surrounding dense, emerald foliage. As the sun's rays began to warm the wren's body, it slowly batted it's eyelids, which felt as though they were carrying pocketfuls of lead. At last, it's eyes fluttered open when the sun emerged in full view over the marsh in a bright blaze. It gingerly tried expanding its wings, which seemed to be in fine working order, but felt somewhat creaky and stiff, like rusty door hinges. After a few more stretches, it felt tired but looser, and with a puff, it jumped to its feet. Shielding it's eyes from the vibrant sunrise with it's right wing, the wren finally took stock of it's bearings. The calm, tranquil waters caressed the glistening porcelain shores, which seemed to go on forever. In every direction, the marsh seemed to be bursting with life: creeping woodsorrels, milk thistles, and coyote brushes carpeted nearly the entire landscape, however there were also other foreign plants the bird had never seen before - plants that, last she remembered, were nearly extinct.
The scene was a stark contrast to the violent and terrifying drama that had played out the last time the wren was conscious. It cocked it's head curiously to the left, still unsure of what exactly what had transpired to have so drastically changed her world while she was unconscious; upon deciding it was better to investigate first and ask questions later, she began her runway race to the sky, legs pumping furiously, and in the blink of an eye she was soaring above the wetlands.
Once she began coasting, after a pause she looked down, and what she saw made her eyes widen in wonderment and surprise: mauve Belladonna Lilies, fiery Red Hot Pokers, and Periwinkle Blueblossoms formed a vibrant floral tapestry in the center of the marshlands. Mustard Brass Buttons peppered the low hills, and sprigs of Wild Radishes, scarlet Pimpernels, and slender Iceplants added more jewel tones to the picturesque view. And still, there were plenty more brushstrokes from mother nature lengthening the horizon: Prickly Bullthistles topped with violet flowers swayed gently in the balmy breeze, flamboyant Italian Thistles bobbed up and down, and angel white Pepperweed, golden Fennel and canary yellow Marsh Jumea silently nodded their agreement that, this must be paradise.
Feeling as if she must be in a dream, the wren gilded closer to a canary island palm, and alighted upon one of it's fronds. "How is this possible?", she pondered. It was the right question to ask - a lot of the plants that currently resided on the marsh had previously been decimated by human causes: construction, pollution, tourists trampling flower beds for selfies, etc.
She slid down a bit more on the palm leaf she was perched on, then flew down to land on the loamy, fertile soil, and was greeted by a cacophony of sounds: Double-Crested Cormorants emitting deep, guttural grunts, Buffleheads grating and chattering amongst their ranks, Western Kingbirds twittering animatedly, Eared Grebes trilling loudly, and many more songs the wren could not discern filled the air; the wren had been too enamored by the scenic views to notice the symphonic ensemble in the background; and although the lilting melodies made her sway with the breeze and began to lull her into a blissful, serendipitous state, somehow she couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss, although she couldn't quite discern what it was at the moment, as she surveyed the fellow avians surrounding her.
"SQUAWK!" The wren stumbled backwards, alarmed at the pair of large beady, black eyes that it had suddenly found itself face-to-face with, and were now glaring at her. Taking a moment to gather her courage, the wren broke the gaze and taking stock of the eyes' owner, recognized it as a scarlet macaw - it's ruby red, lemon yellow, emerald green, and cyan blue feathers were unmistakable.
Confused, the wren leaned in towards the macaw inquisitively, and was met with a frosty reception yet again - "SQUAWK!" the macaw practically screamed, much louder, and angrier this time. Frightened and wide-eyed, the wren quickly darted backwards, and it's back came up against a moist and sticky surface, which it's wings found itself momentarily adhered to. Bristling against the ooey gooey wall, the wren struggled for a few seconds before finally wrestling itself free - as it turned out, it's unidentified captor had been an earthen bank, molded from rain-softened mud, and the wren could now see a nesting hole, which it figured it had probably been blocking, consequently barring the macaw from entering it's sanctuary.
Stepping forward solemnly, the wren lowered it's head apologetically in front of the macaw, and in response, it blinked three times, and then cheerfully hopped into it's peaceful abode. Breathing a sigh of relief at having evaded a potential altercation, the wren hopped over to a nearby puddle, plunged it's head for a second into the fresh rainwater, then tucked it's neck under it's right wing, and began to scrape off the muddy residue.
As it finished cleaning it's right wing and started on it's left one, that same uneasy feeling she'd had earlier that something was awry began to creep in again, but she tried to ignore it, telling herself that she was probably just riled up from the encounter with the macaw.
Both wings now clean, the wren shimmied off the excess water, and it's mind drifted, replaying the incident with the macaw. She thought about how she had heard macaws were very territorial, and she now understood why it had been so agitated when she had inadvertently prevented the macaw from returning to it's nest. The wren's head was now nibbling leftover bits of mud on it's tail feathers, and suddenly, it froze in place like a statue because one word suddenly rang like alarm bells in her head: NEST.
It's breathing shallow now, the wren scurried through the puddle, hopped up onto the branch of a nearby palm, and shimmied furiously one last time to make sure it's wings were dry and then leapt into the air so hurriedly it's wings barely had enough time to catch the breeze.
It flew over the treetops, it's roving eyes darting back and forth across the landscape below, searching for what not yet been found: a nest of wrens. For all the beautiful birds it had seen since it had awakened, the wren had not yet seen a nest of any of its own kind. What had happened to the elders? What about the young chicks that had been born just three days before the storm? What of its neighbors?
It's tiny little heart hammering rapidly in its chest, the wren picked up speed, circling a few feet higher for a better view. It's eyes frantically scanned the ground below, and picked up American Coots, Common Gallinules, Dunlins, Killdeers. It swiveled it's head to the left, and saw American Avocets, Snowy Egrets, Cinnamon Teals, White-tailed Kites, Brown-headed Cowbirds, and Mourning Doves - "is this an omen?" the wren nervously wondered.
It's anxiety ramping up, the wren desperately willed itself to fly even faster, it's eyes prayerfully closed, hoping against hope that the worst had not befallen it's species.
"THWACK!" The wren smacked against something hard and cold, but luckily it's surface gradually slanted downwards toward the ground at an angle, so that it more or less cushioned it's fall.
Hissing it's annoyance, and a little bewildered, the wren shook it's head, and winced it's eyes open to find in front of it, a large, clear glass wall, which seemed to be connected to many other walls. Once it's eyes were able to focus again, it noticed something quite unusual on the other side of the wall: a peach hand on it - and then suddenly, a little boy with jet black hair, maybe no more than maybe five, cozied up to the glass, his mouth agape, pointing at the wren, and mumbled something to a tall woman behind him, who was holding his other hand.
Feeling just as perplexed as when she first awakened after the storm, the wren looked away, unwilling to believe the scene in front of her. She closed her eyes once more, and turned back to face the humans again, and that was when she noticed a sign posted on the wall above their heads: "NorCal Bay Area Conservation Center" and underneath it was another sign with a list of a series of numbers and letters, at the top of which read, "Marsh Wrens - Quadrant B3".
If you would like to take action to help with land restoration in the Bay Area, please refer to the following organizations that are working to help:
Audio Credits:
Produced in Reaper.
Plugins: Kontakt, Komplete Kontrol, iZotope
SFX Libraries: Soundly
Kulintang played by Jinji
Saxophone "busking" recording pulled from Soundly Libaries.
All other music is original compositions.
We would like to thank Guadalupe River Park Conservancy for hosting this installation at The Rotary Park. The Guadalupe River Park Conservancy often leads, partners, advocates, organizes, and informs the public on a number of projects, initiatives, and plans that impact the River Park and surrounding community. To find out more how you can get involved in what they do, visit their website.
SJ Sounds is a collaboration between More Más Marami Arts and Soundplay.Media. This installation is possible thanks to funding from the City of San José through the Abierto program, the support of our fiscal sponsor, The School of Arts and Culture.
