To the bird who chose to fall… I am not mad - not at you. I am mad at the tree for not telling you how beautiful your wings are; I am mad at the ground for not softening your landing; I am mad at the wind for not letting the forest know you were falling; I am mad at the universe. But you? I am not mad at you. I love you as I ever did. You were tired of flying through the constant storms. You were tired of not believing your wings could hold you up anymore. Your weariness was