Baby Bird Soars

The baby bird sat at the edge of the nest, paralyzed with fear. His little talons clung to the bunch of mashed up sticks and feathers that had been the only home he had ever known. The nest had stopped being warm and cozy when his brothers and sisters flew away. It was hard, cold and smelly. His mother hadn’t stopped by with food for the entire day and he was hoarse from chirping out her name in hunger.

He knew that it was time to fly away, but he couldn’t bring himself to take the leap. It was just so high, terribly, terrifyingly high. He could hardly make out the ground below. Why hadn’t his parents chosen a nice low lying bush to make their nest? Now he was left with the difficult choice of plummeting to his death or starving.

With one last pitiful chirp, he closed his eyes tightly and flung himself out into the void. At first, he was falling straight down, plummeting to the death he’d imagined many times before. Then, without knowing exactly how, his wings started flapping and the awful sensation of falling disappeared. He was flying!

At first it was a bumpy ride, then he figured out how to work with the wind instead of against it. He began to glide through the air, buffeted up by the gentle breeze. He came to a beautiful field of wildflowers and swooped down to feast on a cloud of mayflies. His belly now full, he started to enjoy the ride and test out his new skill. He soared into the brilliant blue sky as high as he could go, singing with joy for all the world to hear.

This post was inspired by the Sunday Scribblings prompt: Soar.