By
Madeleine Kando
One sunny day, as the winter's snow began to melt, the bird decal on my window pondered why he was stuck there, his wings immobilized for eternity.
He gazed out onto the yard, the late afternoon shadows growing longer, watching real birds fly by and feed at the bird feeders."Why am I sitting here, collecting dust? Is my sole purpose in life to prevent real birds from crashing into the glass? I long to be free! A strong hailstorm could dislodge me from this glass, and I could fly! Am I not a bird, after all?"
He wriggled and wriggled, but nothing happened. His back was firmly attached to the glass. All this wriggling tired him out, so he started to doze off and soon fell into a deep sleep. Decals dream, you know. They might be flat, but they dream of soaring in the blue sky. In his dream, he was looking down at houses with large windows with strange shapes stuck to them. Those shapes evoked something familiar, a past life, another world, stirring feelings of dread, mixed with relief.
The hawk's talons were kneading something on the ground. A pigeon had collided with the glass and lay on the ground, dazed and motionless. The hawk, perched on a branch, had swooped down, pinning the pigeon before it could escape. It was now slowly kneading the life out of him, patiently waiting until the pigeon's body gradually stopped moving. Then, it expanded its enormous wings and flew away with the dead pigeon dangling from its powerful claws.
The decal felt sorry for the pigeon but thought:"What good am I stuck here if I cannot even stop birds from crashing into the window?"
He sadly looked out on the falling snow, fearing that he would never fly, never hop on the bird feeder, or sing to attract a mate.
The snow slowly turned into rain, and the decal's sadness deepened. He felt something stir on his tail, and had he been able to turn his head, he would have seen something remarkable.
One tail corner had curled away from the glass's surface. In a trance, the decal wriggled with all his might, taking small breaks to catch his breath. As the morning sun shone upon the yard, most of his body was detached. One final tug would liberate him from his glass prison.
Over the years, he had mentally rehearsed flying up to the branches, rehearsed patiently waiting for his turn at the feeder, and had secretly practiced his song when he saw a sparrow or a lady cardinal. Now, it was his turn. Was he ready to take flight? Was he ready to be a real bird?
The rain had stopped, but a strong wind blew through the yard, whipping up clouds of fine white snow.
With pounding heart, the decal let go of the glass one last time and away he soared, up into the sky. His dream had come true! He was a real bird. He flew, dead leaves twirling past him.
Slowly the wind abated. The decal began to lose height, no matter how much he tried not to. He eventually fell to the ground, his paper-thin wings unable to keep him in the air.
He realized then that he was not meant to fly. He had tried to make his dream come true, but he was destined to protect others from harm. He was no longer a guardian nor a bird.
Lying on the snow-covered grass, he looked up at his beloved sky. His eyes slowly closed and he was at peace with the world. Grateful for all the years he safeguarded birds from a painful death, he acknowledged his turn had come and that was ok.
Dreams don't always come true, he thought. But is life really worth living without dreams? Even for a decal? leave comment here
