Y is for YOLO

We passed the time at my in-law's house by going on a journey to see a magical tree. There's some nice parkland a couple of blocks from their house where a majestic maple grows with a grand canopy and wavy branches. Its trunk is so wide in circumference; I can't ever keep myself from wrapping my arms around it, and my palms press the surface to feel life pulsing beneath. Before we reached our destination, however, my youngest spotted an unfortunate sight: a sparrow lay in the grass, the feathers of his belly were still white. My son couldn't take his eyes off of it.

"What's wrong with the bird?" He asked, gulping back tears.

Because he's only two, I didn't think he was ready to hear the D word, so right or wrong, I lied, "The bird is napping. He's been flying so long, and he needed to take a break."

"Make the bird fly," he insisted. "Wake him up." He made no moves to leave this bird's side. I tried to distract him with the sight of our soon-to-be green giant, but he wasn't interested. His brother swung from some low-lying branches and called him over to join in, but this was only a temporary distraction. Moments later, he asked for the tired birdy again. He turned right back around to look for him, but lost track of his resting spot. In his confusion, another feathered friend alighted close by and launched again with energetic wings flapping. He looked up at me with relief in his wide eyes, "Tired birdy's flyin'!" 

"Yes!" I lied again. "Look at him in the tree!" As he craned his neck to see the young bird dancing above, I put my hand on the steady bark once more before we headed home. 

Life lesson: He who binds to himself a joy does the winged life destroy; but he who kisses the joy as it flies lives in Eternity's sunrise. -William Blake