(prompt: 'sing' 24/1/2020)

There was never really a choice. After all, I am but a bird... a we small yellow one. So the choice was to sing. And I DID!

It's true, my colour IS that of a sun. Not the brightest variety. No. I'd describe myself as the pale threads that lace the morning sky, way before the mighty SOL actually peeps over the horizon. Some call this time sparrow fart... because that's what every sparrow does as it wakes up. Truly! No wonder they're that icky brown colour.

My parents gifted me to their daughter when she was in the depths of depression. They thought to cheer her up with my near-constant singing - *sigh* - WRONG! She covered my cage night and day, more and more often. But I sang more heartily whenever I felt freedom (of the uncovered kind). Finally (and shh, don't tell anyone... thankfully), she begged our parents to take me for a holiday at their place. Great holiday. Lasted the rest of my life.

At first they would only cover me when they had the odd late night party. But seeing how much I enjoyed sharing ALL of their life, they reneged. They adored my singing and seemed not to be able to get enough of it. I was so ecstatic I began chucking my bird seed every which way. Luckily, my Mum forgave me because of my wondrous songs. Had to love a Mum like that. Had to try harder and harder to impress her with my songs. And she laughed. And she whistled as close as she could to match me. Poor Mum. She tried.

And then one day I was covered for a few daylight hours - in a car they told me - travelling to who knows where? But Mum talked to me constantly and I sang nothing. Just listened to her. That was comforting. And then we were there. The new home in the country... on the wide bathroom window shelf. And they never covered me ever again. I woke with the wild birds at dawn... and went to sleep when the sun went down and the darkest night fell over the land. How I loved watching the outside world. Except when the odd hawk or flock of squawking parrots flew by. "WOT WOZ THAT?" I chirped in disgust.

As soon as anyone had a shower, I couldn't help myself. Sang like a bird... or even better, apparently. Mum told everyone I had a voice to make Pavarotti cringe. Says he once invited me to share the stage at the Sydney Opera House... but I had my doubts. Never heard of either of them.

We all knew it would end in tears one day. I finally busted my foofer singing, just like my Mum told me I would. But would I listen to her?

Now I sit on a branch of a weeping willow hanging over the Rainbow Bridge and I whistle while I wait. Mum'll be here one day.

Author's Note: Yes, yes... I know you've read it before. My original is a couple of years old. I have tweaked it here and there, but couldn't resist reviving it - especially for this prompt - and another minor detail, we're going away for a few days - leaving in a few hours.