I sat on the edge of the garden that my past pursuits had afforded me enjoying a cup of tea as I did every evening. Alone with my thoughts and some classical music on my vintage speakers. Recently my thoughts had not been too well, just like it had countless times before.
As I sipped the last of the light brown tea with more milk and cream than tea and precisely three sugar-cubes, I noticed something strange at the bottom of the large mango tree that had been planted the day the house was built. A bird flailed around unable to fly. It seemed that its wings were damaged. It did not sing like it did before but instead screeched and wailed.
Hence, I decided to see it for myself closely. The bird struggled desperately to push itself off the ground but it kept falling back down as it labored its right wing. It was a sparrow, with its white underbelly, brown feather and black crown. Its black eyes looked up at me with a sorrowful plea for help.
I saw myself in it. I picked it up, after wearing gloves of course. I bought it a cage and ointment to heal the torn wings.
I fed it food every day personally, the most prestigious brand. Its feathers grew lush from the quality of its nourishment. I gave it the cleanest water to bathe in and processed water for it to drink. I hung its cage in the most beautiful part of my property, so that it could enjoy itself.
I thought that it will be happy from all of this. Yet it looked at me with the same sorrowful glare and still did not sing.
I thought maybe he was alone. So I bought another sparrow of the opposite gender to keep it company.
For the next few days, it jumped around the cage joyfully with its partner. They sang their notes together with gaiety unparalleled by their human counterparts. I would sit in my comfortable chair smoking the tobacco that I had cultivated in my own fields, while looking up at the two birds with a smile on my face.
However, a few days later, the sparrow stopped singing once again looking back at me with the same sorrowful eyes. Its partner continued to sing for the next few days before it too stopped.
I asked my friends who had owned a bird. One recommended me a different brand of bird feed saying that it is more natural to what they usually eat. It did not affect the sparrow one bit.
Another told me to let it free in a room. The sparrow was able to hop around and flap its right wing ever so slightly but yet it was not able to fly. It started singing a little but soon enough, it stopped once again.
I grew frustrated, no matter what I did, I could not make the sparrow happy.
Soon enough, it began to lose its health. Its previously lustrous feathers became rugged, it gaze grew ever so lonely and depressed.
I could never understand the sparrow really. I gave it everything that an avian could ever desire and yet it just wouldn’t sing and always stared at me with its depressed gaze.
I decided to ask the sparrow what it needed, I could provide it with anything that it could ever need. It of course did not respond. The birds tend to do that.
On a certain day, I returned back home from my club of slightly gentlemen, I grabbed myself a cup of tea with more milk and cream than tea and water along with the three exact sugar cubes and decided to sit on my chair at the edge of my garden. What I saw, surprised me.
The cage of the sparrow was open with its partner nowhere to be seen. The sparrow sat at the edge of its cage’s door.
It looked at me one last time with eyes of excitement beckoning me to follow him before taking flight. I smiled, finally, I understood what the sparrow needed.