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Sing a Merry Song

I soared high in the air, even higher than the tallest trees, savoring the wind as it ruffled my feathers. I wished so strongly that I could chirp a merry song, and if it weren’t for the few worms I’d gathered, wiggling hopelessly in my beak, I would have. It was then that I reminded myself that I was doing something very important; I was bringing nourishment to the little beaks waiting in my nest, singing their very own merry song, waiting for their mother.

I tilted downward so that I could find my nest. When i heard the bell-like ringing of chicks’ rhythmic singing, I drew my wings tightly together, and flew like a rocket toward my nest. I landed majestically, and puffed out my chest with triumph. My chicks were jumping hungrily at the worms, which made me feel another wave of pride. I bent my head, and fed my pleading chicks, and that’s when a thought occurred to me; what would my chicks do without my motherly love and determination for them to prosper?

It was then that I why the pride was there.

It was there, with concrete certainty, because even though I was a simple bird doing what any other bird would do, it was my role in nature.

It was then that I heard the rhythm, but it was only then that I knew what it meant.

The wind was whooshing, and the trees were dancing along, and then there was the skitter-scatter of squirrels climbing aimlessly between the trees. There, with beautiful, flowing harmony, was my chicks’ song sung so well with ease.

It was then that I knew what I should do.

I spread her wings, began to fly, and sung a merry song.





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