The Meadowlark Learns To Sing

Long ago in a beautiful forest, a meadowlark was building her nest,
twig by twig, fiber by fiber, leaf by leaf. As she built her nest, she
softly sang a trilling melody to herself. Hearing her voice brought her
joy, and she found that her work went faster as she sang.

Her singing grew steadily louder as she continued her work, and the
animals of the forest slowly gathered close to her tree. The deer
grazed quietly in the shade, the rabbits bounced playfully among the
bushes, the other birds listened with rapt attention as she sang, and
whenever she would stop singing for a bit, the other birds would sing
their own little songs in a chorus, and she loved to hear them, just as
they loved to hear her. The little meadowlark was happy, because her
song made others happy, and inspired others to sing their own
songs.

As twilight approached, the meadowlark wove the last twig into her
nest, and she hopped into it, bursting forth into full volume, singing
her happiness and satisfaction to the forest, sharing her sense of
accomplishment.

Night fell and she curled up in her nest. She tucked her head carefully
under her wing, her heart full with her song and her work.

"My voice made the other creatures happy today," she thought to
herself, and with this thought in her mind, the meadowlark drifted into
slumber.

Before she was deeply asleep, she was woken by a song such as she had
never heard before, a vibrant, sparkling, beautiful symphony of a song.
Pulling her head from beneath her wing she opened her sparkling eyes,
looking around to find the singer.

Sitting on a branch in a tree close by, she saw a nightingale, his
mouth open and bursting with song.

"OH!" she thought, "Oh, if only I could sing with his voice! Then I
would be the finest singer, the greatest singer, the most wonderful
singer in the woods!" Her heart sank within her, and even as she was
filled with admiration for the nightingale, so was she also filled with
envy and with sadness.

The next day, the meadowlark sang very softly, only to herself, and
with each note that she sang she could only find fault. Her good
friend, the squirrel who lived in her tree heard her berating herself
and said, "But you have a beautiful voice, I love your song."

The meadowlark looked at the squirrel and said "Oh, but you have not
heard the nightingale, then. The nightingale sings a much more
beautiful song that I ever will. Nobody will like my song after they
hear his. I wish that I could sing with his voice." and a single tear
trickled down her face as she spoke.

The little squirrel smiled, her eyes sparkling, and replied, "You silly
bird, your song is different from the nightingale's, but no less
beautiful. Have you asked the nightingale what he thinks?"

The meadowlark had always loved listening to the softly chittering
voice of the squirrel, and knew that the squirrel was a very wise
animal who understood much more about the way of the forest than she
herself did, so she decided that she would speak to the nightingale
that evening.

Night fell and she sat up, waiting to hear that beautiful song. Soon it
came, filling the forest, filling her soul. She listened, her heart and
mind soared on the nightingale's beautiful melody, and when the
nightingale had finished his song, she sat silently for a moment before
speaking.

"Nightingale," she said. "How I wish I could sing like you. Can you
teach me to sing your song?"

The nightingale blinked once, twice. He looked at the meadowlark and he
shook his head. "Why, Meadowlark, would you want to sing my song, when
you sing such a beautiful song of your own? I listened to your song
yesterday as you built your nest, and I listened for your song today,
but you were silent and I missed it. You can't sing my song, because
you must sing your own and bring beauty and happiness in your own
special way to this forest."

Then the nightingale opened his beak and began to sing again, and the
meadowlark listened, then, shyly at first, but gaining courage with
each passing moment, she began to sing in harmony with the nightingale.
And the two songs, each so different, yet each so beautiful, each
complementing the other, rang through the forest, filling it with music
and joy. The other birds of the forest joined in, and even the squirrel
sang a quiet descant, as the symphony of the forest swelled into
fullness.

The meadowlark can envy the nightingale his voice and still sing a
lovely song of her own, whether it be solo, duet, or chorale.

I dedicate this story to my beloved friends, the nightingale,
Marc-Anthony Macon, and to the squirrel, Meg Britton. With love from
me, the meadowlark.