Sorrows of Sparrows

It was a crisp, radiant morning—6:30 AM on December 22, 2022. The kind of December day that wraps you in a gentle chill and fills your lungs with life. Slipping into my walking shoes took mere seconds, but Kaala, our spirited pet dog, couldn’t wait. His tail wagged like a metronome set to joy, his paws dancing with impatience. Truth be told, it’s Kaala who’s trained me to walk every day—not the other way around. The moment we stepped beyond the gate, his eyes caught a familiar sight: a bustling flock of sparrows, at least a hundred strong, pecking at grains scattered across the earth like tiny treasures.

Normally, this was Kaala’s cue to bound toward them, not to harm but to play—a ritual as old as our walks together. The sparrows, too, had grown accustomed to his antics, fluttering just out of reach in a merry game of chase. But this morning? Something felt… off.

The sky stretched above us, a canvas of clear, endless blue, kissed by a cool, whispering breeze. The air carried the sweet, earthy perfume of nature in bloom—a symphony of life that should’ve lifted my spirit. Yet, a quiet unease tugged at me. Kaala didn’t charge at the sparrows. Instead, he paused, his gaze soft and steady, then sidled up beside me. No mischief, no playful leap—just a polite, measured stride. I waited for the usual rush of wings, that flurry of chestnut-and-gray feathers bursting into the sky. But it never came. The sparrows barely stirred. One fluttered weakly; the rest merely hopped a step or two, their tiny feet scuffing the ground.

We walked past them, my shoes crunching softly on the path, but I couldn’t resist glancing back. Those little birds kept pecking, heads bobbing in rhythm, yet something about them felt heavy, subdued. My mind churned, caught in a swirl of questions. Why didn’t they fly? Why didn’t Kaala chase them? The morning shimmered with beauty—golden sunlight spilling through the trees, dewdrops glinting like diamonds—but beneath it all, an unspoken sorrow seemed to linger, as fragile and fleeting as the sparrows themselves.

I don’t know what changed that day. Perhaps the sparrows carried a weight I couldn’t see, a quiet grief mirrored in Kaala’s unusual restraint. Or perhaps it was me, reading too much into a moment that nature meant to keep secret. Whatever it was, that morning left an imprint on my heart—a tender, bittersweet memory of a world alive yet tinged with mystery.