The Yellow Bird

Once upon a time, in a quiet little forest, there lived a young bird with bright, yellow feathers that shimmered like sunlight. When he grew up, he said goodbye to his mother and siblings and set off on an adventure to explore the world beyond. He flew and flew, his wings gliding through the clouds, chasing the wind and discovering skies more beautiful than he ever dreamed of. But one day, after flying for many days without rest, the little yellow bird began to feel very, very tired. His wings were heavy, and he couldn’t lift himself up as easily anymore. He looked around and saw a tree branch below—just what he needed! But as soon as he landed, snap! the branch broke in two. He tumbled to the ground, and one of his wings got hurt badly. Still, the little bird wasn’t worried. “It’s okay,” he told himself. “I’ll rest a little and then fly again.” So, with great effort, he flapped his wings and rose into the sky once more, searching for a stronger branch. This time, he found one that looked sturdy and safe. He landed, and the branch held firm. He sighed in relief and sat there, enjoying the view from above. The sky was so blue, and the rice fields in the distance looked like waves of gold. “Maybe I’ll build my nest here,” he thought happily. Days passed peacefully. The yellow bird felt safe and content. Until one day—c***k!—the strong branch suddenly broke, too. The yellow bird, still healing from the first fall, couldn’t react in time. He crashed down to the ground again, and this time, the other wing was hurt as well. His feathers were no longer shiny and smooth. He was covered in bruises and scratches. With both wings injured, he couldn’t fly anymore. All he could do was stay on the ground and wait for the wounds to heal. Time went by, and slowly, both of his wings got better. But something was different now. Even though he could fly again, the yellow bird stayed on the ground. The pain had stopped, but the fear hadn’t. The scars on his wings reminded him of how much it had hurt to fall. He was scared it would happen again. So the little bird spent his days walking around the tree roots, looking up at the sky, remembering how wonderful it had felt to fly. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and months into a year. The yellow bird had grown used to life on the ground. One sunny afternoon, a white bird with feathers as pure as snow landed on a tree branch nearby. She looked down and saw the yellow bird pacing back and forth. “Hey, yellow bird!” she chirped. “Come up here! The view is amazing!” The yellow bird looked up and gasped. He had never seen such a beautiful bird before. He thought to himself, If angels are real like Mama said, they must look just like her. But he nervously called back, “Come down instead… These branches break so easily. I’ve fallen twice and hurt both my wings.” The white bird looked concerned. “Oh no, are you still hurt? Is that why you can’t fly?” The yellow bird shook his head shyly. “No… My wings healed a long time ago.” “Then… why don’t you fly?” the white bird asked, puzzled. “You wouldn’t understand,” said the yellow bird quietly. “If I go up there again, I might fall… It’s safer down here.” The white bird tilted her head, thinking. “But you’re a bird. Your strength doesn’t come from the branches below—it comes from your wings.” The yellow bird was stunned. Then he frowned and said, “You just don’t get it. You’ve never fallen like I have. You don’t know how much it hurts… how scary it is to fall.” The white bird nodded gently. “You’re right. I don’t understand. I’m sorry.” She looked up at the sky. The sun was setting, and the whole sky was glowing red and orange like fire. Then she looked back down at the yellow bird. “Do you want to know what it looks like up here?” she asked softly. “I can tell you all about it.” The yellow bird looked up, eyes wide. For the first time in a year, the little yellow bird smiled.