Baby Bird thought she was the answer to every question.
When the sun shined down on her, Baby Bird said, “I was feeling so cold, but now I am warm. I must’ve done something to make the sun happy.” She fluffed her feathers and stretched out her wings.
But when a cloud rained down on her, Baby Bird said, “I was so comfortable before, and now I’m all wet. I must’ve done something to make the cloud sad.” She ducked her head under her wing and felt very sorry for herself.
Once the rain cloud had passed and the sun had come out again, a grasshopper played a jaunty tune. “Oh, no,” Baby Bird said. “I don’t like that tune at all. Mister Grasshopper, play something else instead.”
“My song isn’t for you, Baby Bird,” the grasshopper said. “It’s for me.”
“But I don’t like it,” Baby Bird protested.
“I’m sorry to hear that — but you can get up and move, if you like. I don’t have to stop just because it doesn’t suit you. It’s not about you. You can —”
Baby Bird bit off the grasshopper’s head, then she ate the rest of him. “I was hungry before and now I’m not,” Baby Bird said.
The grasshopper said nothing.
This is a repository for JY's original content that's yet to be bound in a book -- essays, short fiction, etc. There's little rhyme or reason, so jump in!