Once upon a time there was a pond that, since it had been stage to the final act of the dying swan and its song, had become silent.
This was until, from the tears of the widow dressed in white feathers, four little ones were born, symbols of the love – lost yet still present – of the lover who had left.
Heard in the gusts of the wind, the frogs sang their names: Nino for the eldest, Nano for the one to follow, Nana was the only sister and Nono the youngest.
All the creatures of the pond and its surroundings saw in the young swans a newfound happiness, but it is said that swans only love once and the matriarch still found herself more in the role of widow rather than that of mother.
The eldest resented her for this and gradually grew the most independent.
The two who followed, bound by title of middle borne, stuck together side by side.
As for Nono, the youngest and least competent of the bunch, it mattered little how vehemently he tried to keep up with them: it was as if they were leaving him behind. Not because they didn’t care, but because if they had stopped, they too would have drowned.
The familiar place where he was born soon seemed confusing, a labyrinth of reeds and rushes much taller than him that occasionally tangled around his legs or fragile neck. They were slowing him down even more when one day, having freed himself once again, he looked around and realized: he was alone.
No tree seemed familiar no more. Not a frog was singing a known song and not a dragonfly would have guided him out of the mud. Nono was lost.
The trees prevented the moonlight from bouncing off the water in which he swam uncertain and in the eyes of a serious owl, the little swan seemed a gray feather floating on black ink: “Soon it will be swallowed…”
But the silence was to be broken.
Behind the dark weeds gray plumage stood out and another little swan – who had been alone longer than in company – emerged quietly.
Cautious but not frightened, she looked at Nono‘s shivering figure as if seeing herself in him and all caution gave way to warmth.
The serious owl hooted her name.
Enni, she was called, and the fishes were sure she had been alone long enough to rejoice at finally having found someone with whom she could share her food and shelter, listen to the crickets in summer and huddle close during winter.
In turn Nono rejoiced for reasons that were all his and over time felt a newfound solidarity towards his mother, for in Enni he found what his father must have been for the matriarch of his family. A life companion, partner with whom to grow and mature, discover new places and, above all, rediscover old ones.
The very pond where he was born from the sadness of the matriarch at the loss of her lover appeared further darkened by the despair of a mother who had lost the youngest of her children and the tears that she once shed for her first love were now being shed for her fifth.
It is said that swans only love once and the matriarch believed so too, but when the little swan returned all grown to the silent pond, the creatures that inhabited it saw it clearly: mother and siblings who had long searched for the youngest and mourned his disappearance were now flooded with a kind of joy that only the purest love can bring and what was for Nono a rediscovered family also became the family that Enni never had.
As they reunited, all animals of the pond and its surroundings marveled at the transformation that had taken place: the once somber and silent waters now teemed with life and joy and as the sun set each day, a sense of peace and contentment settled over them. They knew that in this place of love and growth, they would always find their way back home, no matter how far they might have strayed or how lost they might become, for together their hearts were forever bound.