The Last Flight of Aruna: A Journey Through Broken Valleys and Blooming Fields 🕊️
In the soft light of the waning sun, a lone bird crossed the sky — its feathers touched by silver, its wings moved not by urgency, but by memory.
Its name was Aruna, once the swiftest among the cloud dancers, now the last of its flock.
Aruna had seen the world change:
Forests turn to fields.
Rivers dry and be born again.
Songs of many beings rising and fading like mist at dawn.
But now... Aruna was tired. Not defeated — just ready.
Ready to find the place where it could fold its wings for the final time.
🌿 First Resting Place: The Broken Valley
The first place Aruna visited was a valley once lush with green.
Now, thorns crawled the earth, and the songs of crickets sounded like echoes of old dreams.
A willow tree, old and bent, whispered,
"Why do you travel alone, old friend?"
Aruna answered,
"I am searching for a place where the wind no longer calls me, and the stars bid me sleep."
The willow swayed sadly,
"Then you must fly on — sorrow still sings here."
🌿 Second Resting Place: The Mirror Lake
Next, Aruna found a lake, once bright as a mirror under the moon.
Now, its surface was cracked with thirst, its depths shallow.
A heron, standing alone, asked,
"What do you seek, traveler of the skies?"
Aruna replied,
"A shore where I may leave my last song without regret."
The heron bowed its head,
"Not here, not yet — the waters have forgotten how to cradle dreams."
🌿 Third Resting Place: The Garden of Wildflowers
At last, Aruna came to a hidden valley, where wildflowers grew without plan or permission — gold, violet, crimson, swaying in chaotic beauty.
No hands had planted them.
No walls had contained them.
They simply were — joyful, stubborn, alive.
A soft breeze caressed Aruna's tired wings, and in that moment, it heard:
"Life does not end in sorrow, nor in perfection — it ends in surrender to beauty."
Aruna smiled in its heart. It did not need a grand farewell.
It only needed a place where life still laughed — even if no one watched.
With a final gentle stroke of its wings, Aruna spiraled down among the wildflowers.
The petals closed around it like a warm cradle.
And the sky, in blessing, rained soft silver mist over the earth.
✨ Author’s Note ✨
This story reflects the quiet truth that some journeys are not about escaping sorrow, but about finding peace that does not demand anything from us.
Like Aruna, when burdened by the weight of life, we are allowed to seek not an end—but a gentle return to wonder, however small it may seem.
No comments:
Post a Comment