This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 54; the fifty-fourth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.
I want to soar high! the young bird said. His words inspired awe among his peers and his parent's chest swelled. Attaboy! they cried. What would you look for? they asked.
He thought of the question over and over. He looked at the rising sun, the rays stretching and reaching the darkness and vanishing the opaque. The landscape was gaining clarity and so was the dream in his eyes. He flapped his wings, moving restlessly in the nest.
Love! I want to find love! he had answered. Love? they asked with amusement. So you want to soar to search partner? What a waste, they grunted and flew back to their nests.
He didn't mind they taunts. They do not understand. The truth was he wasn't sure himself. What is he after? Love? Did he want to search love? He couldn't convince himself.
He flapped his wings and looked back. His parents were with his younger sibling, contented. It was his last glance. He whispered goodbye, spread his wings and took flight.
The woods were dense, he cut through them reaching higher. The world was beautiful, at times ugly, mostly amusing. As he flew up, he looked around, questioning, is this what he left his nest for? But the answer was never definite. He soared higher and higher. Every where he went, his eyes searched trying to figure something. He knew it was indefinite, the endless, it was beyond his understanding. But he believed, it existed.
As he crossed the various woods, the sizable mountains, the vast oceans, he took rests on some shady branch or clay rooftops. His wings had gained strength yet there was some weakness entering him every time he left one place for the new.
As he pecked into the small green fruit, he looked at the mountain that stood before him, at the pine wood that spread. Is it foolishness? Is it time to give up? Will he have to search forever? He thought but he was without answer. His wings were fluttering in indecisiveness. The moment was pulling him into silence, it's gravity inescapable. The world before him was infinite, with millions of possibilities, and disappoints but also of hope. While branch he was sitting was haven, that his tired body asked for, a relief. Warped in an ugly tug, he hovered up and down over the branch, his wings fluttering... shivering...what should he do?