A Starling perched outside my kitchen window, its feathers ruffled and its eyes full of sadness. It had been calling for its mate, but there had been no response. The Starling knew that its mate had flown away, leaving it alone, and as the sun began to dip below the horizon, the Starling’s calls grew more desperate. It fluttered its wings and cried out, hoping against hope that its mate would hear and return. But the only response was the mournful sound of the Mourning Dove. The Starling sat there, alone and heartbroken, until the last rays of the sun had disappeared, and the stars began to twinkle in the sky. It would never know why its mate had left or where it had gone. All it could do was keep calling, keep hoping.
