It was dark and very late at night. The little feathered chickadee had long since fluffed his feathers and gone to sleep. But a storm was coming. The little chickadee sensed this with that sixth sense for weather that animals have. So, he sat up on his twig just outside my window, and made ready to “defend” himself however he could.
Minutes later the storm broke. First came the rain. With no polite pitter-patter of introduction, it drove down in sheets. Paired with a driving wind, it beat down on the poor chickadee, but he held fast.
Second came the lightning. It split the sky, sending light as bright as day through my bedroom window. I was awake now. The clock read 1:14 a.m.
Third came the thunder. It was louder than loud. Every rumble and bang shook the earth, and the house quaked. The tree on which the little bird clung bent and swayed in the strong winds. But still he sat there as stone-faced as a bird can be, and in the thick of the storm, he let loose his battle cry.
“Tweet!” he chirped.
I was still in bed, and I was shivering with fear. A week or so before, I had planted some seeds in pots outside. They had only just begun to sprout, and now I was afraid they would be washed out. But when I heard that defiant chirp, I smiled and felt hopeful that my plants might live if this brave little bird could face the storm.
While the storm still raged outside, the little bird kept up his cry. “Tweet, tweet, chirp!” he screamed, just outside my window.
The storm, with its thunder, answered back. Three flashes of lightning and then a huge clap of thunder surely meant to frighten this small challenger away, but the chickadee, totally unfazed, only chirped the louder.
“Chirp chirp!” he raged with ferocity.
The storm was wearing. Its next answer was quieter and farther away. The little bird made another chirp at the tired storm, and it got farther and farther away until all that was left was the rain, which had softened now into a light drizzle.
Then something odd happened. The chickadee appeared to have one last thing to say, “Chick-a-dee-dee-dee!” it called.
The storm must have thought this was frightfully insulting because it came back in full force one last time.
BA-BOOM-CA-BANG!!!
This was the loudest call it had made yet, and I jumped in my bed and my ears rang. But the bird called calmly back,
“Tweet, chirp.”
The storm had nothing to say to that. It was over. The little bird had won.
So if ever you’re afraid and the storm looms just outside, remember the little bird that stood up to the storm and won.
