Day 55: Fire Bird

I'm afraid that my entries the past few days have been... well... "pretty bad" might be even too nice a term for them. It's a funny thing, this writing. Some nights, I have such great ideas. Other nights, I feel like there just isn't anything there. So, I write--either way. And some mornings, I wake up and think "Oy. Last night's entry was awful. I should erase it." Almost without fail, it's the stories that I think were awful that get a good response, and some that I really like--get none. So I erase none of them. Good, bad, unedited as they are. They stay. But, please, accept my apologies for the ones that are "pretty bad."

Tonight, I was trying to make up a story for my son as I was trying to wrestle him into his pajamas. Something about a bird of every single color who could fly so high that he could see the whole world. I was feeling pleased with it. My son, on the other hand, couldn't have been any *less* interested. So I thought I'd write my simple story here. Maybe someone *else* will like it...

****

There once was a bird.
It had draping feathers of blue, red, purple, yellow, green, white, black, orange, and aqua--every color of the rainbow. But it didn't always.

Once, that bird was very small, and very weak, with simple brown feathers. But, one day, he decided to fly as far as he could--to see what he could see.

Setting off, he could see some squirrels in the trees, gathering nuts. He could see small fish in the streams. But, before long he grew very tired, and went back to his tree.
When he reached there, he realized that he had grown some silvery blue feather--the color of the stream, and some green feathers--the color of the trees.

The next day, and the day after and after, he flew a little further and a little higher.
He saw sheep in the meadows and cows in the fields dotted with purple clover.

Higher still, he could see goats clambering on the rocks in the mountains,
their peaks covered in glistening white snow.

Ever higher and higher he flew, and soon he was never tired. And for everything he saw, he grew feathers of different colors. The yellow of the sunrise and the orange of the sunset.

Higher and higher it would fly, until it could see the boats bobbing on the deep blue ocean. Soon, it reached the moon, with it's smiling face, and grew silver white feathers.

Higher still, the bird--strong and beautiful--flew and flew,
until it's tail feathers brushed the stars and it turned all the colors of the sun.