Anxiety roiled in his crop as he neared the humble cottage, the very ivy on the walls seeming to droop in sympathy with his arrival. He ducked his head and as lightly as he knew how, came to a rest on the windowsill. She was just inside, smiling to herself at some lovely memory, the blue skirt of her gown swirling as she moved, voice a sweet trill as she wiped a damp cloth along the already clean countertop. Obviously the other creatures had kept their promises in his absence and made sure her workload was light. He reminded himself to thank them later; each beak and paw and wingtip combined to give her the life of comfort she so deserved. When he could bear her potential disappointment no longer, he made a gentle peep to gain her attention. She turned. Her eyes, deep and dark, at first widened with surprise but then softened in empathy. No. He did not deserve her favor. He had failed. His tiny voice cracked as he attempted to chirp his apology. “No, no, no, my little friend.” Giving him a smile, another gift he did not feel worthy of, she held out a soft palm, which smelled of gardenias and orange blossoms, and he could not refuse it. With one hop, he was home. But still he could not lift his eyes to hers. “You did well,” she said. But he had not. He was a cleaning bird, and his mission had been a dismal disaster. He couldn’t even get inside the window. She stroked the feathers atop his head with her index finger. “You have softened her heart. That is the largest obstacle to being allowed in. Please. Join us for a meal and a rest. And when you are ready, I am certain she will let you tidy up that horrid, horrid room.” The words gave him comfort and strength, and with a peep of gratitude, he joined the others.
Posted on: Sun, 30 Nov 2014 00:19:55 +0000
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