The morning sunlight made the white bird’s feathers shine and sparkle. But the white bird’s thoughts did not shine or sparkle. She was sad and worried. Her master had tossed her up into the air several days ago and now she had forgotten what she was supposed to do or where she was supposed to go.
“I do not see anything that is familiar to me!” she cried. “And I can’t even go home for I’ve forgotten that as well!” A tear glistened on her cheek feathers. She looked once more at the meadow beneath her tree. A little child was standing there looking at her. A tear was on his cheek as well.
“Oh, beautiful white bird! can you help me find my way home?” he called.
The white bird flew down to his shoulder. “Which way did you come?” she asked.
The little boy pointed. “Over there. But I cannot see my house now! I think it must be gone!”
“Oh, no, little one; I think it must be over the hill where you cannot see it. But it is still there!
Let me fly to my tree branch and look.”
The white bird flew back to the tree and looked in the direction the little boy had pointed. Yes, there was a small cottage. “Just turn around and walk back the way you came,” said the bird. See, I will fly ahead of you!”
The little boy clapped his hands. “Thank you, beautiful bird!” And together they found the path that would take the little boy home. He waved goodbye as he ran up the lane.
The white bird flew back to her tree. Her heart was a little lighter now for helping someone; but she still did not know where she was or what she was supposed to do. She did know she had been sitting in this particular tree too long. “Perhaps if I fly farther I, too, will find my home.” So off she flew over the meadow and over the next few hills.
But nothing familiar came into sight. She did find a wheat field and ate a few grains for her breakfast. As she pecked at the wheat she heard a sad sigh. She looked up and saw an aged farmer cutting the wheat. He looked very sad as he worked. “Oh, my!” she heard him say, “The crop is so poor this year and the work remains just as hard! If only I could hope for a better day!”
The white bird fluttered up from the ground, “How sad you look, Grandfather! Surely there is something good to think about!”
The farmer dropped his scythe and let the white bird sit on his hand. “How beautiful you are!” he exclaimed. “What a wonder my field has hidden within it!” And the old man smiled at his guest. “What are you doing way out here in the fields? Surely you live in those fancy houses rich men keep on their rooftops in the city!”
“I do not know, Grandfather. I am lost and I cannot find my way forward or back.”
“Stay with me in the field for a while and perhaps we can think of a way to find your home.” said the farmer.
THE WHITE BIRD The morning sunlight made the white bird’s feathers shine and sparkle. But the white bird’s thoughts did not shine or sparkle. She was sad and worried. Her master had tossed her up into the air several days ago and now she had forgotten what she was supposed to do or where she was supposed to go. “I do not see anything that is familiar to me!” she cried. “And I can’t even go home for I’ve forgotten that as well!” A tear glistened on her cheek feathers. She looked once more at the meadow beneath her tree. A little child was standing there looking at her. A tear was on his cheek as well. “Oh, beautiful white bird! can you help me find my way home?” he called. The white bird flew down to his shoulder. “Which way did you come?” she asked. The little boy pointed. “Over there. But I cannot see my house now! I think it must be gone!” “Oh, no, little one; I think it must be over the hill where you cannot see it. But it is still there! Let me fly to my tree branch and look.” The white bird flew back to the tree and looked in the direction the little boy had pointed. Yes, there was a small cottage. “Just turn around and walk back the way you came,” said the bird. See, I will fly ahead of you!” The little boy clapped his hands. “Thank you, beautiful bird!” And together they found the path that would take the little boy home. He waved goodbye as he ran up the lane. The white bird flew back to her tree. Her heart was a little lighter now for helping someone; but she still did not know where she was or what she was supposed to do. She did know she had been sitting in this particular tree too long. “Perhaps if I fly farther I, too, will find my home.” So off she flew over the meadow and over the next few hills. But nothing familiar came into sight. She did find a wheat field and ate a few grains for her breakfast. As she pecked at the wheat she heard a sad sigh. She looked up and saw an aged farmer cutting the wheat. He looked very sad as he worked. “Oh, my!” she heard him say, “The crop is so poor this year and the work remains just as hard! If only I could hope for a better day!” The white bird fluttered up from the ground, “How sad you look, Grandfather! Surely there is something good to think about!” The farmer dropped his scythe and let the white bird sit on his hand. “How beautiful you are!” he exclaimed. “What a wonder my field has hidden within it!” And the old man smiled at his guest. “What are you doing way out here in the fields? Surely you live in those fancy houses rich men keep on their rooftops in the city!” “I do not know, Grandfather. I am lost and I cannot find my way forward or back.” “Stay with me in the field for a while and perhaps we can think of a way to find your home.” said the farmer.
