Another little story...

The little bird

And into his hand he took the bird, its white feathers soft. Stroking the form and sweet shape of the little animal, admiring the way nature so carefully places forms together, with feathers in their correct patterns and shapes. So carefully crafted by a higher power. And his eyes lit up with the same energy of life, the feeling in God's heart that created this little creature, became the feeling in his own heart. And as the bird fluttered and scurried and tried to hide -- that natural fear of being trapped -- that fire in its little heart burning and telling his little legs to run and wings to fly, that fear in the bird, became excitement in his own heart. And he sat calmly, soaking it up. And he watched the creature closely, as the natural burning of fear grew, and intensified, and he squeezed tighter, like a child trying to pull out the last bit of chocolate from a melted silver wrapper. And he calmly watched in wonder, this energy, until, that energy faded completed. A fire burnt out. And the bird relaxed back into the place from which he came -- the ultimate place from which he came -- not the sky, because the sky is not a place he would see again.

He stepped back, surprised at the sudden stillness. And his focused eyes looked to the side with his eyebrows down -- why had it stopped? Where had that brilliant energy gone? It was just here a second ago. And he became angry. Where was that beautiful energy? That pure white light with the perfectly positioned feathers, all arranged in the way God had chosen? Where was that magnificent fire in the little bird's heart?

Without realizing it, he was stepping back, away. He continued to notice his feet retreating, until there was a hand on his shoulder. Without turning, he knew the warm touch. He knew he didn't need to explain, and she would know.

"It's gone darling," said the voice.

"But why? I want it back!" he said, the anger brewing in his voice.

"Somethings cannot be brought back, once we have killed them."

And his eyes remained on the little white form in front of him. The shiny eyes reflected the scene, but they did not understand it.

"Cause and effect."

But no words would get through. It was like a snapshot taken, without the little words written underneath to provide a concise explanation. And he continued to stare at the little white form, that was now no different than the ground beneath it. Still, quiet, dull. And he wished for the bird to come back.

"But I'd like it back! I'd like to see its little eyes again!"

"It will not come back. It is gone," said the calm soothing voice, as the purple and pinks mixed in the evening sky, and the sun was gone. They were silhouettes now, soon to become invisible against the black of the night sky.