Valiska Gregory

“In a kingdom long ago there was a man who lived alone. In spring he never sowed his seeds for fear there might be drought, and in fall he would not travel lest his ship be blown into the deep. But though he locked his doors inside and out, it did not bring him peace. One day a bird, small and slight as a pebble, flew to his window. He marveled at her green wings and at the beauty of her song. 'I have heard that wind can uproot a tree from the ground,' said the man. 'Are you not afraid of wind?' The bird cocked her head brightly. 'Of course,' she said. 'And I have heard that fire can sweep a forest in a day,' the man said. 'Are you not afraid of fire?' 'Yes,' she said. Her wings, thin as pages in a book, glinted in the yellow sunlight. 'But if you are afraid,' asked the man, 'why do you fly? Why do you build your nest?' The bird cracked a grain of millet in her beak. 'There are things I would not miss,' she said. 'Every day there is morning, ripe as a peach.' She trilled a score of grace-notes effortlessly. 'And fledglings in the spring, of course-small things.' 'I do not wish to hear of these,' said the man. 'What of wind and fire?' The bird considered thoughtfully. 'My song,' she said finally, 'requires them all.' The man watched her fly away, as frail and strong as ashes dancing in the air.”
― Valiska Gregory, Through the Mickle Woods