Cold winds blow and days are gray. Dark robed fates rise up to steal away a sheltered spark hid in a cave.
The shield is broke the sword is gone will to fight and carry on fades with the dark sirens song, which lull to sleep the warrior’s heart.
He would give his life for that spark to see it blaze and dispel the dark. He sailed the oceans and searched the world, the mountains steep the forest deep, searching in vain for the fuel to feed the flame. Now only the spark remains.
Packed away in the cave and he slumped against the wall, creeping from the shadows dark fates come to call.
Suddenly at the mouth of the cave amid the winter chill comes a brave little voice that wakes him from the still. Rising to his feet he asks “whose voice is that which sounds like a harbinger of spring hope and faith”. He peers outside to see, perched on the leafless Hawthorn tree a brave little chickadee.
Dark fates retreat in fear and his heart light fills the cave. And that is how one little brave chickadee saved the day.