Wren's Little Song

In the heart of a whispering forest lived a tiny bird named Wren. She had feathers the colour of moss and eyes like shiny beads. More than anything, Wren loved to listen to the forest's grand chorus.

Every morning, the other birds would fill the air with their joyful songs. There were trills and chirps, warbles and hoots, a symphony that made Wren's heart flutter. But Wren never joined in.

"My voice is too small," she’d whisper to herself, "too quiet. No one would want to hear it." She imagined her little peep getting lost in the magnificent melodies of her friends.

One afternoon, a wise old owl named Sage, with feathers like twilight shadows, landed on a branch nearby. He had been watching Wren for many days.

"Little Wren," Sage hooted softly, "why do you keep your beautiful music to yourself? Every voice adds to the forest's magic."

Wren’s tiny heart thumped. "But Sage," she chirped, her voice barely a squeak, "my song is just a little peep. It's not grand like the thrush's or deep like the robin's."

Sage blinked his large, golden eyes. "Every drop of rain makes a river, Wren. Every tiny star lights the night. Your song is yours, and that makes it perfect."

Taking a deep breath, Wren closed her eyes and opened her beak. A tiny, wobbly note emerged. It wasn't loud, but it was hers. She opened her eyes, surprised.

Day after day, Wren practiced. Her little notes grew stronger, clearer. She still wasn't the loudest, but her melody was sweet and true.

Soon, Wren’s song became a cherished part of the forest's chorus. She had found her voice, and with it, a joy that echoed through every leaf and every branch.