ℝ𝕚𝕕𝕕𝕝𝕖 𝕄𝕖 𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕤 || ℙ𝕒𝕟𝕥𝕒𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕖

2. Same Time, Same Place

It's funny how such a mindless activity for someone can mean so much to others.

A simple act of kindness, minuscule and routine, can impact so many lives. Truly, this is the butterfly effect in action. Perhaps you don't even realize what you did, and maybe that's what makes it all the more meaningful. Because it proves that the biggest things are made from small things that can mean a lot more than they were intended to mean. 

Isabella would always ponder this as she fed the birds. 

There was this clearing, in the middle of the woods behind her house. She could picture it in more detail than her own face. The way the sunbeams danced on the fresh snow from the night before, making the crisp white glisten and shine with an aura of indescribable purity. The way the dense spruce and pine cleared into just a tiny circle, too perfect to exist, yet it did anyway. The way the air lay still, tinged with the flavor of patience as birds hid in the shadows of the surrounding trees. And the way they waited silently for Isabella, as if she'd belonged with them all along. 

Every day, just after lunch, she would take this tin can out with her into the woods. The poor old can suffered this routine so often that its label disappeared, simply vanishing after being handled a tad too much. Isabella couldn't even remember where the can came from and thus could not compensate for its own lack of identity. One day, it was just there. Just a part of her. Another piece of the monotonous routine in her life.

Once she approached the clearing, listening only for a second to the serenity of the forest, she began her routine. With a nimble hand, she reached into the tin can, grabbing flecks of breadcrumbs left over from last night's dinner. She threw them into the sparkling snow, and within a blink of an eye, finches and sparrows, crows and magpies, jays and cardinals, all flew down from their perches to claim their share of Isabella's little gift.

As she watched the birds feast on her offering, her mind wandered. This time, however, she wasn't lost in philosophical ideologies that weren't quite what usual ten-year-olds pondered. It had been a few days since that strange boy had run off, and since then, she'd been keeping an eye out during every second she spent in the woods. 

Sighing, she sat down on a rock at the edge of the clearing. The stillness was calming, yet the silence was deafening. Here, the only sounds that hovered in the air were the gentle rustling of the trees and the quiet chirping of the birds. Nothing else. 

Perhaps to some, such silence was serenity, but Isabella couldn't help but feel small under its presence. It was as if it swallowed her up too, leaving a hollow body of melancholy musings. 

"Riddle me this," she began, whispering as to not disturb the birds. "I glow with light I do not own and steal the stage from what once shone."

Tapping a finger on her bottom lip, she paused. "That does rhyme, but isn't it a little obvious?" 

She looked down at the birds eagerly, awaiting some sort of response. But of course, there was none. They were birds, after all. Not quite the ideal audience for a riddle-composing session. 

"I've done the moon multiple times now, surely Grandpa will see it coming from a mile away," she said. Riddles were a slight tradition between them. Isabella would sit and think of one as she fed the birds, then tell it to Grandpa later in the day. He'd always guess them correctly, though, which made her all the more eager to think of a really good one to finally beat him.

"Snowy," she said, addressing the snow finch by her feet. "What should I make a riddle about this time? How about you?"

The finch looked up at her for a moment, its black eyes shining blankly. It gave her no response other than continuing to look for crumbs on the ground.