A bird knows no fear. It soars to great heights in the belief that it can, and it will reach great heights. It flocks around birds it likes and sometimes some it doesn’t. It searches through blades of grass and lives within the spanning arms of trees. Tree’s with arms outstretched and leafy exterior, that hide the bird. Sometimes it prefers up high, but down low on the soil, that was another world entirely. For the world of a bird is up or down not round.
The greatest pleasure might be swinging from cords near moving tins, or crossing hard pathways -near those same metal things. The bird loves to play. The bird can sing, no other can match it. It does so when it is happy, or sad, or something in-between. It can say all that in one clear note, or a song. It is rumoured that other birds are held in what humans called, cages, but the bird dared not believe it.
For wind blew freedom. And the bird had only to choose which way it went.