On the row of old tiles, that began to be filled with moss, a small bird seemed busy with its hunting today. Her little beak bites food crumbs, small gifts from the vast world. The morning breeze swept up slowly, making his brown hair sway subtle, while his eyes remained alert to observe the surroundings.
No matter the hardness of the surface of the tile or the cold remaining dew, this bird knows that every day carrying its own fortune. In the silence of a quiet roof, her tiny steps become a rhythm of life with a simple, sincere, and gratitude.
It was there that nature teaches that luck often comes in the smallest form, but feels the most valuable.