There will be snow soon. The air is getting stiff.
Our Journey has more in store for us. We will reach the warm place soon.
And yet, you stop here on this lonesome tree branch.
Must you test me? Come. Look and see.
I see nought but two children below, playing on the frost.
Look closer. Look at those children there.
I do not understand their importance.
Must things be important? Can we not simply watch them for a while?
You are throwing your time away. Winter approaches and it will not wait for you.
And still you weigh down this branch.
I am here to warn you of your wasted minutes.
Friend, either rest a moment or fly away. You are no different than me.
We ought to go while we still have daylight.
Let’s stay a minute. Maybe they will show us something of importance.
They will not notice us, up here on our little tree branch.
They will not pay attention to the rustling leaves or our calls.
Their hands must be numb with the cold.
Look at how they stumble and run after each other.
The sun is getting low. Not long before they are called inside.
There they will know warmth and food.
Friend, do they not seem so unaware?
What do you speak of?
Turn your head to where we fly. We pass these trees towards death.
Towards uncertainty. Death rests among the not knowing. It is not the only choice.
Yet still these two children play outside. They abandon safety without a second thought.
Don’t you believe they might hold a desire to journey beyond their door?
Look. Look to those walls. There is safety there. A place where nothing can get them.
But still they play in the cold with snow just beyond their fingertips. I admire their courage.
Would you admire a drunk man who dances near a cliff?
No, for even his mind cannot deny the danger he is in.
You then say these children are ignorant.
These children do not understand hurt.
They know little of truth.
Truth is only for those who cherish hurting.
You hold such a disdainful view.
You are young, friend. I know more of this cold than you. It is why I can stop here and wait a while.
The cold will catch up to us both here.
And it will catch up to these children. Let them be courageous before they know of its cost.
When they learn of it they will not play outside anymore.
Much like them all.
Look. They are being called inside now.
They stumble over each other for the front door.
And now it is only us and the wind.
Then I guess, friend, we best be off.
Lest my advice take hold in you. The truth of the cold might reach you.
When the snow arrives, we must be further south. Come. Let us relieve this branch of our weight.