Secure on her perch in the modest shotgun house in the French Quarter of New Orleans, Isis mantled her feathers; then preened. The youngster was a bit clumsy - but he WAS very young. Even so, things were beginning to fall back into place.

She streched, wings, neck and body; as a young man entered through the front door of the shotgun; precious fiddle tucked under his arm. "Isis! Always ready to greet me," he murmered softly, giving a gentle rub to her head. He carefully, but tiredly placed the fiddle on the table beside the perch of the Macaw and dropped into the padded recliner on the other side of the perch. "I thought Grandpa Abe was nuts when he gave you to me, but you have been a lifesaver. Always here, and always awake when I get home, no matter how late the gig."

He leaned back in the chair, popping the footrest out as his head sank into the pillowed back. His eyes closed as he continued to talk to the Hyacinth Macaw as if she could understand. Sometimes he thought she understood more then some people did; certainly more then Lilith, his current girl.

"I'm tired, Isis. I think it's time Judah Davidson took a break from the gigs and the recording studio. What do you think? Maybe the two of us head up north and visit Grandpa Abe in that retirement home of his? And maybe take a side trip through the hill country and see if we can get some more inspiration from people who aren't saturated in videos and MTV 24/7?"   He glanced sideways at the bird that had seen many generations of his family. "Being a celebity isn't all that it's cracked up to be, old girl; even if Dad grins all the way to the bank after every concert. Maybe Mom and Grandpa are right; music *needs* to be made for the joy. Not that the money hurts," he mused, but I miss jamming with Grandpa the way we did when I was little. And I Still say Mom is a better musician then any I could hire."