Soar

The little golden, naive bird truly believed that his wings were broken. Having never flown before, he just assumed that they were useless, an extension of his fear. Maybe a bird's life purpose was to perch forever in a nest. The golden bird's father had abandoned the nest before the little bird's shell cracked, and his mother could care less if he existed or if he was fed. So, all day he sat with downcast eyes and echoing sighs, leaning slightly over his nest full of curiosity, but not too much though, for he believed he could not fly.

Then one day, after his mother flew in search of food for her selfish soul, a ghastly wind came knocking. Leaves rustled all about and rain drops plummeted in giant gulps that were too enormous for him to swallow. The wind pounded on his nest and its thunderous hands shoved the nest, causing it to topple. "Oh no," thought the little golden, naive bird. He had never felt such a sensation before, one of complete and utter dread. This would truly be the end.

The ground was fast approaching, and he did not have a clue. It was hopeless to ponder where could he go or what he could do. He had seen the adult birds, how adorable their golden streaks embraced their elegant bodies, and he too longed to become just as magnificent. He truly did not want this to be the end. As the sights of the green grass became more apparent and as the bees raced to join him in his swirling, spiraling dance in the air, the little bird felt a tickle. A sensation that forced its way under his wings and lurked there, sending his feathers in a startling frenzy. The more the wind tickled, the more the little golden, naive bird felt the need to open and extend his wings.

The wind grew stronger, and it incessantly poked its way through. With each jab, the little golden, naive bird flapped his wings and to his incredulity, he went higher and higher. He was flying, but how could this be? He was awestruck at how a storm that came to wreak havoc brought him the greatest gift of all. The wind slapped the little bird's face, but he felt no disquietude, for the freedom of being able to use his wings soothed a sweet melody upon his ear.

Up and up he went, grooving to the haphazard music of the wind, and dancing with his wings. Today, he would soar, no matter where the wind hurled him, and no matter how treacherous the storm, he would soar and soar and soar.