Photograph by Edith Meier
The morning sun filtered light through the morning mist. The little bird sat upon the top of the post, waiting, waiting, waiting.
His cry was heard echoing down and off the hills and across the waters...
Can you reach me from there, sang the little bird, the little bird to the morning mist. Can you reach me here, sang the little bird, the little bird surrounded by mist
You can reach from there, you can reach me here…. sang the little bird
You can reach me from anywhere
Anywhere in the air