And Your Bird Can Sing

While walking down my tree-lined street today, I heard a bird singing its heart out. It was beautiful and sweet and powerful, and so welcomed after winter. I stopped at the tree in which it was perched, and stood and listened. I could swear, five minutes later, the bird hadn’t repeated a single tune, phrase or sound. It sat on a branch and looked to the sky, effortlessly and joyfully belting out all it had. Also watching the bird was another bird. A cute little chubby bird sitting on the next branch. And sometimes, in response to the singing, this little bird would let out a chirp or a tweet, but nothing that compared to the magic coming from the songbird. The cute little chubby bird reminded me of an appreciator; someone who had no ability himself, who perhaps felt slight regret at never having pursued his dream, but who nonetheless, made a happy life for himself in the audience.

Just then a man walked by at looked at me curiously.

“This bird just won’t quit,” I said. The man stopped, stood beside me and looked into the tree.

“There are two birds aren’t there?” he asked. 

“Yes," I said, ”but only one is singing.” 

And the man replied, “Ain't that always the case?”