Arrow of Flying Colours

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By: Bint Saif

It was a bright day. The blue sky was quite cleaned. Suddenly, an arrow appeared in the midst of the sky. That was a flock of herons. They were flying from North to South. They would always fly in one or two lines. That line was the symbol of their rules and discipline. They did not break that unity. No one of them would ever try to cross a given position and place. This is why that order put them in one line to fly towards their destination.  

Some times this unity would turn into an arrow in the sky. The forceful heron would remain the first in that arrow to keep them all in a line. That line would provide them an opportunity to fly easily. If one of them would ever lose his or her line then he or she would lose the entire journey.

Durning journey they had an oasis. A spot to have a rest for the night, in the middle of the great Saharah.

The head of the flock saw the oasis. It slowed down its flight. It had a soft and relaxed breath when its feet touched the softness of the ground. Because half of the journey had been finished. They all drank water and enjoyed playing and swiming. They all freshened themselves for the journey of the next day.

Night fell down like a black veil.

There was silence everywhere.

'I wish I had wings.'

The head of the herons heard voice. It frightened him. Because the head was quite sure that there was no human being, nor animals, nor even insects in that piece of land.

'Who is it?' asked the cheif heron.

'It is me the desert.' answered the desert after a deep sigh.

'Oh! I heard you first time in my life. But you have got such a nice voice and we were told in our stories that deserts never speak. They always remain silent. We believed it. But here the situation is different.' said the head of the herons.

'Each situation has its own reality, my dear.' answered the desert.

'But why do you wish to have wings? You know that you cannot.' enquired the head.

'Well. I need freedom.' answered the desert with deep emotions.

'Freedom? Come on! We always thought as you are the only one who got real freedom and vastness. What kind of freedom do you want?' asked the head.

'Each vastness has its own limitations.' replied the desert.

'What kind of limitations you have got?'

'I am chained!' revealed the desert.

'Chained? asked the head, surprisingly.

'Yes I am imprisoned in the chains of my own measurement. I am chained in the measurement and distance of thousands of miles.' replied the desert in a sort of pain.

'Oh my goodness! I didn't know it.'

The head of the flock and the desert remained silent.

Night had completed its course of journey. Early in the morning all herons flew away one by one, following the head with its force.

The desert became alone again. Its only companion was its silence. But there seemed a move. A sign of life.

The desert saw that white feathers blew away everywhere.

'Wow! It's beautiful! The desert could not stop itself appreciating that beauty.

Each heron had left a piece of feather as a token of remembrance.

The desert forgot about its imprisonment for a moment and felt drowned in the beauty of the given scene.

That one moment of feeling of beauty gave the desert a sense of freedom. This sense of freedom was a gift for the desert. It was a precious gift the desert contained and preserved for ever.