The sparrow angrily shouts out her reasons for not accepting that lift back into the sky. The Hand gives no sign whether the sparrow has been heard, and after a while, the Hand disappears.
The sparrow, suddenly feeling restful after her diatribe, lies down in a warm, safe spot and takes a nap.
While she sleeps, the world around her goes on as before; the sun moves about its cycle, nature takes its course in all manner of ways, dew drips from blades of grass.
The sparrow wakes and is quickly on her way, hopping on her damaged legs through the meadow, towards the edge of the forest in the distance. She stops occasionally to greet a new friend, to sip some dew, to remember the view she had not so long ago, and realize how different it is now that she’s grounded.
She goes on.
I am a weird girl 