When it opened its little pecks of eyes, the sun was already
shining.
It had already sent its enchanting, golden messengers to
great the world, and to see it get away safely from night's
embrace. Every little thing they met, smiled at them and
glowed. The small creek that ran amidst the evergreen trees
was shining with delight at its meeting with the little
messengers. It acted as if they came to visit it for the
first time. Regardless of the delight it felt entertaining
them, it knew it had to send them away again. They bounced
off and headed for the trees and the branches. One of them
went directly to the little swallow's eye.
It blinked and smiled, constantly chirruping, to greet the
world in its own little way. It stretched in its little nest
and smiled again.
A breeze met the swallow's nest, and rocked it gently, as if
reminding it that it was time to go. The swallow stood up,
spread its wings, and answered the wind's invitation. The
breeze carried it down the creek - to the place it liked
most. The little swallow slowed down, and landed near the
little pond. The creek's water was cold and sweet. It was
already well past morning and no animal was in sight. The
swallow smiled at its good luck. It hated when the big
stupid animals came to its little pond, making all the water
dirty and the ground around it stink. Not to mention that
they hardly noticed the little swallow and once even almost
killed it.
The little bird danced around to the sound of the forest and
the splash of the creek. It glanced to its left and saw that
the berry bush still had a few berries left. It would make a
wonderful breakfast, it thought.

After filling its belly with those little sweet plumps of
juice, it started up the river toward the cliffs. The little
bird greeted each animal it saw on its way upriver and
smiled to each tree. It knew all of them, and was sure that
if it missed one of them, then the next day it would act
neglected and then the little bird would certainly feel
guilty. Besides, it didn't really lengthen the journey too
much, and anyway - she enjoyed it.
When it came to the last bend, it could already see the
cliffs hanging high above the treetops. It livened up at
what was expecting her.
It remembered vividly the evening before, when it was
already turning away to leave, it decided to cast one last
glance at the graceful bird sitting on the rocks. What
struck it was that for the first time since it started to
come here (and it remembered it was an extremely long time
ago) the mountain-bird looked at it. The little swallow
almost lost its balance and fell from the air. It was the
first time the mountain-bird noticed the little one.
Today, the swallow knew, it might be the same again. The
mountain-bird just might look at it again. The swallow's
heart fluttered when it thought about all those times it
didn't look back to see the mountain-bird look at it.
The swallow was really overjoyed. It expected the familiar
sight with shortness of breath. When the mountain-bird
finally came into view, the little bird slowed down. The
swallow sat down on a high branch of a willow-tree, so as to
let the mountain-bird see it and notice it was there.
The hours passed, and the little swallow knew that the sun
would soon be sinking and that it was time to go home.
Nothing happened that day - it left the swallow sad. But, it
still had the memory of the day before. What it feared the
most was that that glance might have been meaningless. It
tried not to think of it. It knew it should not bother
itself with such thoughts. But, today the mountain-bird
didn't look at it at all, then maybe that look was really no
more that by chance.
It sighed, straightened its wings, and started on its way
home. After a few seconds of feeling the air gush past it,
it looked back, to see the mountain-bird looking at another
direction. The little swallow's heart was ready to break. It
knew it was hardly possible for the likes of the
mountain-bird to notice it. Still, it flew home with a
twinge of hope.
Suddenly, it felt itself clenched in a fist. It started to
chirrup madly and to struggle. Yet, when it saw that the one
holding it was the mountain-bird, it almost fainted, but
stopped struggling. It was ecstatic - now it knew that the
mountain-bird really had noticed it. It relaxed and waited
to start a new episode in its life.

The old bird-watcher continued sitting by the old oak tree,
hidden from view. He followed with his binoculars the big
eagle carrying that poor swallow to the mountains. The old
man was saddened by the sight, but he was also a bit
hopeful. He was seeing the little swallow come to gaze at
the eagle for several years now. It was an unexplainable
phenomenon - how could a swallow fall in love?
The old man knew that the eagle was looking at the swallow
for some time now. He saw that the eagle tried not to let
the swallow see when it was looking, but the day before it
faltered and made itself be noticed.
Today it came to get the swallow. It was hardly believable.
The old man hoped that if he got to see a love-stricken
swallow, it would see an eagle in love too.
He decided to go home and look at the eagle's nest with his
telescope. It opened a wonderful view of the mountains.

The only thing he saw was the rough rock surface of the
cliff. After playing with the devilish contraption for a
while, he finally zeroed in on the nest.
It was already dark, but the moon was full and shining.
Actually, it was one of those strange moons - the giant
yellow ones you get to see once in a while. He liked it.
The eagle was not in the nest. He zoomed in to try to see
the swallow. He hoped not to see bones.
He didn't. What he saw amazed him. The little bird was
walking around the nest, with its wings ripped off. It was
grounded. Suddenly the eagle came back. It looked at the
swallow and a glint appeared in its eyes.
The old man was shocked to see the big eagle take the
swallow in its mouth and throw it down from the cliff and
into the darkness.

Several months had passed since that strange night. The old
watcher was still sitting by the old oak, seeing the little
swallow only in his memory. He had grown extremely attached
to the little bird, and not seeing it there, on the trees,
made him sad.
He couldn't stop himself from coming to the oak each night
since. It had grown upon him, and he liked it. He loved the
air, the trees, and the forest.
The eagle was still there. He saw it once in a while. That
glinting was still in its eyes. The old watcher hated
looking at it. He couldn't stand the sight of that wretched
animal. He looked at its nest once, and saw that the wings
of the little swallow were still there.
He cried all night.

Today he was looking at the forest and smiling. The creek's
waters were shining as ever and the leaves were playing
their well-known symphony. The old man sighed.
Suddenly, he saw a yellow clump by the willow-tree. He
focused on it, and smiled.
He took out his binoculars and looked at the clump.

The little swallow was standing there, looking at its
mountain-bird and smiling. It still knew no other joy in
life but the mountain-bird. It had forgotten it ever had
wings.