Little Birds
Ah, sweet silence.
Being far into Autumn has it's prices. To me, it's only natural to find my thick antlers nearly bare of the small flowers I always decorated them with during the Springtimes. But I always felt rather crestfallen whenever I saw those purple bits of flora float silently towards the earth to join those red leaves that fell from the treetops.
I admit it, even though I have lived for years, I still, and always will, despise the Autumn seasons. Life begins to deteriorate before my eyes, save for the other Cervids that roamed the forest, and any other beast that might not sleep during the cold Winter season.
But Autumn is only the start of the dreaded time of year. Once the snow begins to fall, all I can hear pealing in my ears are the eerie winds' white noise, and the sound of crows mockingly cawing throughout the wood.
But even in those cold seasons, where both my antlers, and life itself, are rather bare, there's always something that cheers me up; those small birds that stay year round. True, they're Sparrows; common, lively, ordinary, but their soft singing that chimes through the forest, if able to be heard through the abnoxious din created by crows, is more than music to my ears.
Even when those beautiful patches of violet seem to disappear from both the earth, and those tall branches on the crown of my head; I always find a bird or two that makes my spirits soar. Ironic, really, since as a fawn I could never come close to a small avian without it flying away first, or even get a peck out of my spotted pelt.
But ever since a little bird first perched on those barren antlers of mine, I couldn't help but feel a sweet knotch in my heart. I had made a friend; without that friend realizing it.
