There was once a girl who decided to become a swallow. When winters arrived, she migrated to an island in the Pacific ocean. In a month a nest was built in a tree cavity from little sticks picked from bushes and some chaff from a nearby barn.
Each morning on an empty stomach she flew in search of food, alas returning exhausted and empty beaked. It was not the scarcity of food but the lack of determination that lead to a failed attempt each time. Only a few times in a week was she able to pluck some insects lingering nearby her nest or nibble onto some plants.
Swallows are known to be efficient hunters but she seemed to have left those skills back at home in Africa. It seemed as though the climate of the Pacific did not suit her well.
After two months she was to migrate to her homeland but her health was frail. Having lost a few of her feathers, thereby losing strength to fly diligently, her bone structure also stooped low so that when she walked, it felt like an old woman walking with a stick that was hidden under her bent over figure.
One morning after a night of rainfall, she was breathing in some fresh air, lying halfway through her hole when she witnessed another swallow flying at such a pace she had never seen before. Over a pond of still water left from previous night’s rain was a dragonfly buzzing to and fro. In a matter of seconds this swallow grabbed onto the dragonfly and flew away clutching on it tightly.
It was a moment of exhilaration, an epiphany for the swallow in the nest, as in a matter of seconds she jumped onto her feet and glided out of her hole. It took a considerable amount of strength to keep her wings aloft, they hurt, her body ached but she persisted and after a few rounds she entered her nest. Only this time, there was a wasp in her beak.