The Thrush and the Fowler

The berries on the myrtle tree were black and sweet, and the thrush could not stop eating them. "One more," she said, and she swallowed one. She hopped along the branch. "One more," she said.

She stayed all morning. She stayed all afternoon. There were other trees on the hill, but she did not look at them.

Down below, a bird catcher stood and watched her. A bird that stays in one spot is an easy bird to catch. He took his long reeds and smeared them with sticky glue. Then he crept closer, and closer, and slid the reeds up through the leaves.

"One more," said the thrush, and she stepped onto a reed. Her feet stuck. She flapped, and her wings stuck too.

The man's big hand closed around her.

"Oh, foolish bird that I am!" cried the thrush. "For a few sweet berries I have given away my life."