Flutter-flap, flutter-flap!Rue the bluebird zipped through the trees, her red scarf rippling behind her. She landed on a low branch, tilted her head, and listened.

“Tweet-tweet!” sang a sparrow. “Cawww, cawww!” called a crow high above. “Chirpity-chirp-chirp!” piped a finch from a leafy bush.

Rue’s eyes sparkled. “It’s a whole concert,” she whispered.

Clover hopped along the trail, ears twitching. “A concert? I don’t see any instruments.”

Rue chuckled. Hee hee! “That’s because the forest makes its own music. Every bird has a song. Some call to mark their home, some sing to find friends, and some share joy. Together, they make a symphony.”

They stopped to listen. Whoooshhh. The wind rustled the leaves like soft drums. Plink plop. Water dripped from branches into the creek. Tap tap tap! A woodpecker added its steady beat.

Rue puffed out her chest. “See? Every sound has its place. High notes, low notes, fast and slow. If we stay still and listen, the forest shows us its whole song.”

Clover crouched, ears perked high. “It’s louder than I thought,” she whispered, “but gentle too. Like the forest is humming to itself.”

Rue nodded softly. “That’s why we protect it. Every wingbeat and whistle matters in the song of the world.”