Lessons

“Little lamb who made you?” said mother early that morning, knowing fully well her boy wasn’t listening. “The shepherd!” “No silly” “I know. But he’s here.” Maa sighed. “What am I going to do with him?” Little lamb wanted to be right in front with the other billies. He didn’t like being at the end. Although for a time he enjoyed the ride on the shep’s shoulder, he now wanted to be on his own. So, when the shepherd came calling, “…Dotty, Webster, Cuddly, Spots, Bristler, Little Lamb and Maa. That’s a hundred.” he finished as he picked little lamb and put him on his shoulder. “What’s the matter li’l fella? Can’t stay up?” Said Shepherd and put the lamb down. With a hop and a skip, he went right to the front. Till they reached the meadow, the shepherd walked beside Little lamb. The shepherd let his staff rest against the lone shady tree, sat in the shade, harp in hand. The cattle enjoyed gentle music as they fed on the greenery. Little lamb looked busy. Every now and aga

Birdy Bruce lived in the city. His nest was way up along with the others’ on that top most branch. Birdy Bruce loved to sing. He sang in the morning, He sang in the evening, He sang even at mid –day when the others were napping. Birdy Bruce could sing when he was sad, could make the others mad. “Bruce” they said the other day, “stop singing or leave”. So Bruce left. Crest fallen and all, he flew amid those birches, oaks and cedars. In his head played that soft tune that often came to him at moments such as this. He had a faint memory of his mom and dad hovering about the siblings –fledglings reminiscing about that glorious past when all the birds were free of fear happily tooting the merry toot, waking up just the two of them in the garden. Those were the days. One day, Birdy Bruce had asked mom to tell him more of that glorious past. “Oh it is just hear-say for me. It was all a long, long time ago. The story, I hear, has never changed though” she began, visibly happy that he