GREEN SPROUTED FROM every woody nook and crack in the old elm. Fluffy chartreuse moss dangled from a sunny corner of its trunk; silky emerald ferns burst like stars atop roots that popped out of the ground. Birdsong crowned its branches, goldfinches and flycatchers fluttering among the young foliage in flashes of yellow and silver. All the except the tiniest goldfinch.
She remained in the nest, buried in the twigs and feathers that had kept her warm as an egg. Unlike her nestlings, she had been born with a peculiar green mark that stretched from her beak down her back to her tail. In the right light, it was hardly noticeable, simply an olive streak. But in the full spring sunshine…
Wings fluttering in self-conscious shame, the little goldfinch remembered the last time she had ventured out with her nestlings. The golden-white light had changed her streak into a shamrock shade so brilliant the other birds had laughed at her. So she had decided it was better to stay away. Little did she know what her mark signified and the brave deeds she would do as a result.
Written: 17 March 2016
Inspired: St. Patrick’s Day