The Island

Clear blue water lapped forever at its shores, a constant reminder of life, and a beautiful conduit to far off places. What a serene sight from afar, a self-sufficient world. This little island was gazed upon with wonder and curiosity. What a romantic scene it was.

A narrow bridge of marsh-grass connected this little island to the shore before it. Pines in its center defined it, gave it stature and importance. Proudly they reached toward the deep blue sky above, their tips dancing playfully with the clouds.

Occasional visitors would come to the island, those who would brave its unstable path. The squirrel would come to plant new seedlings; the beaver would come take a fallen branch to help make its home.

Birds would come to this safe-haven to rest their wings and to make their nests. The mother birds nurtured the baby birds with sustenance from the forest around it. There was just not enough food on this small little island. They would make the long flight back and forth until the babies were strong enough to fly.

What a glorious sight. What a feeling of pride for this little island. The little birds would spread their wings and fly from branch to branch learning of this new and exciting world they had entered. The island always cherished this time of growth, change, and of wonder.

Every spring it happened again and again. It was met with great anticipation, but always with a sense of loss as well. The island knew that soon these little birds would leave its shores to new and far off lands. It was completely natural. The island was happy to have offered something, given what little it had to create new life, new dreams, new hopes and horizons. The island watched it's little creations soar, hoping one day they might return to sing it a song, or just to relax upon the branches they used to call home.

Spring, the time of new growth and of change, what a romantic scene it was...