Eastbound Bird

A bird flying east encounters difficulties: solitude, winds.

The story needs premise. It’s a red bird, medium-sized. It’s had no family problems. It’s in love, that’s why it’s flying east, to find love. It’s heard that love is the fabric of life. You cannot fly unless you have loved in the east, they say. They say many things.

In the east it will find easier air. Air that supports the wings, not the kind that weighs and pushes on them. There, it is always sunny. Ozone-layered sunshine making feathers shine. Red - the only color it has ever been - has always suited it. The color of life, the color of death, the color of berries.

The flight was not easy. No insects to feed on on the way east. Where were they?

West the sunset. Birds never fly west.

Some, a large amount, actually, go south: warmth, company. Not red birds.

Red birds fly east because you never fly back. They fly to their dreams.