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Thank you!
Christy
| the_thing_about_birds_christy_obalek.pdf |
The Thing About Birds by Christy Obalek
530 words
Ellie and Ollie were out for a walk.
They skipped and they hopped and they walked a whole block
Till suddenly something caused Ellie to stop.
She stopped in between a half-skip and a hop
She crouched to the pavement and laughed as she said:
“Look, Ollie, a feather - all fluffy and red!”
He picked up the feather and looked all around
For the bird who had left it right there on the ground.
“If birds are all different, then what’s with their name?
What makes them all birds?
What makes them the same?”
They thought about birds in all shapes and sizes.
They thought about whats-es.
They thought about whys-es.
They puzzled and pondered and wondered a while
Till Ollie lit up with a Eureka! smile.
“Let’s figure out what makes birds all the same.
Let’s find the answer - we’ll make it a game!”
Into the woods with a quest to fulfill
They spotted a bird with a worm in its bill
Flapping its wings soaring higher and higher
A sonar- and stealth-equipped super high-flier
“Wings!” Ollie said. “It just has to be wings!
Wings are the answer.
Wings are the thing!”
A whispery whirlwind of white wings arose
and a butterfly landed upon Ellie’s nose
A bird and a butterfly aren’t the same thing,
So wings aren’t the answer,
No, wings aren’t the thing.
Shaking their heads they walked on undeterred
Determined to know why a bird is a bird.
While watching a sparrow snatch bugs in midair,
Ellie felt something get caught in her hair
She brushed off her head and looked all the way up,
right up to a nest that was shaped like a cup.
Stuffed to the rafters with stuff all about,
stuffed so completely that stuff fell right out.
“Nests!” Ellie said, shaking off leaves and string.
“Nests are the answer,
nests are the thing.”
Just then a squirrel popped out of the nest
with a bushy gray tail and a fluffy white vest.
A bird and a squirrel are not the same thing,
so nests aren’t the answer, no,
nests aren’t the thing.
They walked till they came to the edge of a pond
and heard someone sing from the reeds just beyond.
“Songs!” Ollie said.
“It’s the songs that birds sing!
Songs are the answer.
Songs are the thing.”
Then with a SPLAT! something jumped on a log
and they saw that the songster was really a frog
A bird and a frog are just not the same thing
So songs aren’t the answer, no
songs aren’t the thing.
They walked quickly on, past the pond and the logs.
They thought about butterflies, squirrels and frogs.
Running through raindrops to reach Ellie’s door,
they peeled off wet layers that dripped on the floor.
They knew that it wasn’t the songs that birds sing,
and it wasn’t the wings or the nests filled with string.
They pondered the feather, all fluffy and red,
till Ellie spoke up as an idea spread:
“Maybe it’s something we’ve missed altogether
Maybe it’s something to do with this…
FEATHER!”
“That’s it!” they both laughed as they swung on the swing.
The feather’s the answer
The feather’s the thing!
The End.
530 words
Ellie and Ollie were out for a walk.
They skipped and they hopped and they walked a whole block
Till suddenly something caused Ellie to stop.
She stopped in between a half-skip and a hop
She crouched to the pavement and laughed as she said:
“Look, Ollie, a feather - all fluffy and red!”
He picked up the feather and looked all around
For the bird who had left it right there on the ground.
“If birds are all different, then what’s with their name?
What makes them all birds?
What makes them the same?”
They thought about birds in all shapes and sizes.
They thought about whats-es.
They thought about whys-es.
They puzzled and pondered and wondered a while
Till Ollie lit up with a Eureka! smile.
“Let’s figure out what makes birds all the same.
Let’s find the answer - we’ll make it a game!”
Into the woods with a quest to fulfill
They spotted a bird with a worm in its bill
Flapping its wings soaring higher and higher
A sonar- and stealth-equipped super high-flier
“Wings!” Ollie said. “It just has to be wings!
Wings are the answer.
Wings are the thing!”
A whispery whirlwind of white wings arose
and a butterfly landed upon Ellie’s nose
A bird and a butterfly aren’t the same thing,
So wings aren’t the answer,
No, wings aren’t the thing.
Shaking their heads they walked on undeterred
Determined to know why a bird is a bird.
While watching a sparrow snatch bugs in midair,
Ellie felt something get caught in her hair
She brushed off her head and looked all the way up,
right up to a nest that was shaped like a cup.
Stuffed to the rafters with stuff all about,
stuffed so completely that stuff fell right out.
“Nests!” Ellie said, shaking off leaves and string.
“Nests are the answer,
nests are the thing.”
Just then a squirrel popped out of the nest
with a bushy gray tail and a fluffy white vest.
A bird and a squirrel are not the same thing,
so nests aren’t the answer, no,
nests aren’t the thing.
They walked till they came to the edge of a pond
and heard someone sing from the reeds just beyond.
“Songs!” Ollie said.
“It’s the songs that birds sing!
Songs are the answer.
Songs are the thing.”
Then with a SPLAT! something jumped on a log
and they saw that the songster was really a frog
A bird and a frog are just not the same thing
So songs aren’t the answer, no
songs aren’t the thing.
They walked quickly on, past the pond and the logs.
They thought about butterflies, squirrels and frogs.
Running through raindrops to reach Ellie’s door,
they peeled off wet layers that dripped on the floor.
They knew that it wasn’t the songs that birds sing,
and it wasn’t the wings or the nests filled with string.
They pondered the feather, all fluffy and red,
till Ellie spoke up as an idea spread:
“Maybe it’s something we’ve missed altogether
Maybe it’s something to do with this…
FEATHER!”
“That’s it!” they both laughed as they swung on the swing.
The feather’s the answer
The feather’s the thing!
The End.
The Long Walk by Christy Obalek
500 words
After dinner, we put on our shoes.
The air shocks my face when I open the door.
I quickly close it and put on a jacket, but I won’t need my gloves.
Outside, the streetlights are lighting up, one by one.
I watch them come alive, and wonder who flicks the switch.
We turn right and walk along the road to the end of our street.
There aren’t any sidewalks here, and most of the cars are tucked away in driveways for the night.
I want to walk forever.
I kick at a stone and count how many steps I take
before I reach it.
Five.
I kick it again.
Seven.
At the end of our road, the houses turn to trees.
Pavement turns to rocks and dirt.
I leave the stone where it lands, and breathe deeply.
It’s hard to describe what I smell. It’s a pungent mix of damp earth, hemlock trees, and skunk cabbage – kind of like the inside of Grandpa’s greenhouse. It might not sound that good to you, but to me, it is the best smell in the world.
I want to walk forever.
We slowly make our way down the hill.
I want to run, but the rocks are loose, and I’ve slipped here before when I wasn’t careful.
At the bottom of the hill is a small wooden bridge.
It’s the kind of bridge that you want to walk across, but I know that the only thing on the other side is a hill back up to the road.
We turn left and follow the path along the creek.
The smell is stronger here.
The lights from the road don't reach us, but we can still see the path in the hazy green light.
I know that we’ll have to turn around soon, so I walk ahead, trying to put as many steps between us as I can.
I want to walk forever.
The creek bubbles and gurgles as it winds its way down from the mountain.
There’s a Coho salmon swimming upstream beside me but it gets stuck at a high spot. It jumps out of the water nine times before it finally leaps over the rocks like a shooting star.
I watch it disappear under the water.
It’s getting harder to see, and my eyelids feel scratchy.
“Time to turn around, Eagle Eyes”
I hate this part.
I want to walk forever.
I pretend I don’t hear, and pick up a stone.
I run my thumb over the tiny crack that
cuts across the surface like a creek.
This is a good one, so I put it in my pocket.
My feet are getting tired, but I don’t want to show it
so I walk a little faster.
My foot catches on a tree root.
I’m lifted up onto strong shoulders.
My head drops, eyes closing.
I want to walk forever.
The End.
500 words
After dinner, we put on our shoes.
The air shocks my face when I open the door.
I quickly close it and put on a jacket, but I won’t need my gloves.
Outside, the streetlights are lighting up, one by one.
I watch them come alive, and wonder who flicks the switch.
We turn right and walk along the road to the end of our street.
There aren’t any sidewalks here, and most of the cars are tucked away in driveways for the night.
I want to walk forever.
I kick at a stone and count how many steps I take
before I reach it.
Five.
I kick it again.
Seven.
At the end of our road, the houses turn to trees.
Pavement turns to rocks and dirt.
I leave the stone where it lands, and breathe deeply.
It’s hard to describe what I smell. It’s a pungent mix of damp earth, hemlock trees, and skunk cabbage – kind of like the inside of Grandpa’s greenhouse. It might not sound that good to you, but to me, it is the best smell in the world.
I want to walk forever.
We slowly make our way down the hill.
I want to run, but the rocks are loose, and I’ve slipped here before when I wasn’t careful.
At the bottom of the hill is a small wooden bridge.
It’s the kind of bridge that you want to walk across, but I know that the only thing on the other side is a hill back up to the road.
We turn left and follow the path along the creek.
The smell is stronger here.
The lights from the road don't reach us, but we can still see the path in the hazy green light.
I know that we’ll have to turn around soon, so I walk ahead, trying to put as many steps between us as I can.
I want to walk forever.
The creek bubbles and gurgles as it winds its way down from the mountain.
There’s a Coho salmon swimming upstream beside me but it gets stuck at a high spot. It jumps out of the water nine times before it finally leaps over the rocks like a shooting star.
I watch it disappear under the water.
It’s getting harder to see, and my eyelids feel scratchy.
“Time to turn around, Eagle Eyes”
I hate this part.
I want to walk forever.
I pretend I don’t hear, and pick up a stone.
I run my thumb over the tiny crack that
cuts across the surface like a creek.
This is a good one, so I put it in my pocket.
My feet are getting tired, but I don’t want to show it
so I walk a little faster.
My foot catches on a tree root.
I’m lifted up onto strong shoulders.
My head drops, eyes closing.
I want to walk forever.
The End.
Ms. Brisbit Finds a Home by Christy Obalek
400 words
It was still dark when Ms. Brisbit touched down in the Grasslands. The April ground was damp beneath her feet. Her bright yellow eyes mirrored the full moon as she took in her surroundings.
szzz szzz szzz
The cool night air buzzed all around her.
Ms. Brisbit was hungry.
She snatched up crickets as they sprung out of the grass at her feet.
Her head felt heavy on her shoulders. She had been traveling for thousands of miles, but her journey wasn’t over yet.
Ms. Brisbit needed a home.
She walked until she came to a hole in the ground. It was deep, cozy, and dark. It looked like a good home.
[peering inside]
“Occupied!” [out pops a prairie dog]
“Oh! My mistake,” said Ms. Brisbit. Straightening her feathers, she carried on. She walked and walked until she came to another hole. It was deep, cozy, and dark. It looked like a good home.
[peering inside]
“Occupied!” [out pops a badger]
“Oh! My mistake,” said Ms. Brisbit. Stretching out her wings, she carried on.
It was getting harder to hold her head up. She walked and walked and walked until the stars faded and morning came to the Grasslands.
Ms. Brisbit wondered if she’d ever find a home when she happened upon a beautiful field of flowers. Exhausted, she sank to the ground, plopped her heavy head down, and closed her eyes.
She was dreaming of a cozy burrow filled with flowers, when the ground started sinking beneath her.
She was so tired that she didn’t even notice the hole hidden under the flowers. Ms. Brisbit peered inside the hole. It was deep, cozy, and dark. It looked like a good home.
“Occupied” came a muffled voice from below.
“Oh. My mistake,” she said as she shuffled slowly to her feet. With aching shoulders, she started on her way.
“Wait!”
Ms. Brisbit turned to find a cheerful face smiling at her.
“This hole is far too big for just one little owl. Would you like to share it with me?”
“I’d love to,” said Ms. Brisbit.
After that, her head didn’t feel quite so heavy any more.
Her journey was over.
Together, they filled their burrow with flowers, good food, and friendship.
As they watched the sun set over the Grasslands, they both agreed: it was a very good home.
The end.
End Matter / notes:
Burrowing Owls are a little smaller than a pigeon and have tall skinny legs. When they are babies, they can’t hold up their large head so they sleep face down on their bellies. Burrowing Owls travel between 2500 and 3500 miles each spring to spend their summers in Canada. The males arrive first and pick out a good burrow - usually one that they’ve taken over from prairie dogs or ground squirrels.
400 words
It was still dark when Ms. Brisbit touched down in the Grasslands. The April ground was damp beneath her feet. Her bright yellow eyes mirrored the full moon as she took in her surroundings.
szzz szzz szzz
The cool night air buzzed all around her.
Ms. Brisbit was hungry.
She snatched up crickets as they sprung out of the grass at her feet.
Her head felt heavy on her shoulders. She had been traveling for thousands of miles, but her journey wasn’t over yet.
Ms. Brisbit needed a home.
She walked until she came to a hole in the ground. It was deep, cozy, and dark. It looked like a good home.
[peering inside]
“Occupied!” [out pops a prairie dog]
“Oh! My mistake,” said Ms. Brisbit. Straightening her feathers, she carried on. She walked and walked until she came to another hole. It was deep, cozy, and dark. It looked like a good home.
[peering inside]
“Occupied!” [out pops a badger]
“Oh! My mistake,” said Ms. Brisbit. Stretching out her wings, she carried on.
It was getting harder to hold her head up. She walked and walked and walked until the stars faded and morning came to the Grasslands.
Ms. Brisbit wondered if she’d ever find a home when she happened upon a beautiful field of flowers. Exhausted, she sank to the ground, plopped her heavy head down, and closed her eyes.
She was dreaming of a cozy burrow filled with flowers, when the ground started sinking beneath her.
She was so tired that she didn’t even notice the hole hidden under the flowers. Ms. Brisbit peered inside the hole. It was deep, cozy, and dark. It looked like a good home.
“Occupied” came a muffled voice from below.
“Oh. My mistake,” she said as she shuffled slowly to her feet. With aching shoulders, she started on her way.
“Wait!”
Ms. Brisbit turned to find a cheerful face smiling at her.
“This hole is far too big for just one little owl. Would you like to share it with me?”
“I’d love to,” said Ms. Brisbit.
After that, her head didn’t feel quite so heavy any more.
Her journey was over.
Together, they filled their burrow with flowers, good food, and friendship.
As they watched the sun set over the Grasslands, they both agreed: it was a very good home.
The end.
End Matter / notes:
Burrowing Owls are a little smaller than a pigeon and have tall skinny legs. When they are babies, they can’t hold up their large head so they sleep face down on their bellies. Burrowing Owls travel between 2500 and 3500 miles each spring to spend their summers in Canada. The males arrive first and pick out a good burrow - usually one that they’ve taken over from prairie dogs or ground squirrels.