The chicken, with her head down, scratches frantically in the barnyard soil, her beak picking up an assortment of grub worms, insects and scraps. Her movements become more excited as the storm moves closer. She knows that she must hastily finish her meal because soon she will have to take refuge from the storm. Strange indeed and very different are the actions of the other bird. The eagle sits on the naked limb of a dead tree, his head turning this way and that searching the scene, his sharp eyes piercing the clouds, scanning the heavens. Suddenly he spreads his great wings and waits—testing the winds. A gust of wind blows across his perch and he lifts into the air with a royal scream. He soars into the sky, circling higher and higher above the storm. On the barnlot below the storm breaks in all its fury. The chicken fearfully scurries about hunting for shelter. She darts, with all the other chickens, into the safety of the barn were they huddle together in their misery, fearing every lightning streak and thunder bolt. As the storm rages below the eagle rides calm and majestic in the bright world above.
Posted on: Wed, 31 Jul 2013 09:13:23 +0000