Once, there was a little bird who did not want to fly.
“Why don’t you want to fly little bird?” I asked, crouching down with my hands on my knees. I had to do that because he would not hover in the air before me.
He chirped, “I have two good strong long legs and what else are they for but to run with? Everyone I know sticks to the status quo, but not I!
“All the other birds can soar like an eagle, zoom like a plane, or hover like a helicopter, but I choose a different destiny!
“I will run like a leopard, walk like a tractor, glide like a Mercedes! That is my dream!”
I smiled at him. He was so full of the fighting spirit. But then I thought of something. “What will you do if a cat tries to eat you?”
“Oh, my. Oh goodness gracious. Oh darn! I hadn’t thought of that…
“I will clad myself in armor so that if he eats me he will find me indigestible and will spit me back out again!”
“What a brilliant idea!” I told him. “But what about if a car almost runs you over? Surely you would fly away then.”
“Never! I will be like a tornado and speed across the road!”
“All of that sounds very nice. And very good ideas. But I have only one more question. What will you do when winter comes and you must migrate south?”
Now he looked very sad, and his head fell down to his toes. “I suppose I must give it up and die from the cold, or break my resolve and fly again.” He looked up at the bright blue above us.
“But then I will miss so much of life! I will not see the details of the flowers blooming in the crisp of April. I will not amble slowly past a lilac bush and breathe in its fragrance. Life will fly past as fast as I fly, and I will not be a special little bird.”
He looked so downcast at the thought, and his reasons for walking suddenly sounded so noble, that I impulsively lifted him into my hands. “Little bird,” I said; “Brave little two-legged bird who will not fly, you will come home with me. I will keep you warm in the winter and safe from predators, and at your own slow pace, you will be the bird who would not fly.”