The elephant wondered what it would be like to live in the city.
He had seen some films at the Mission showing various cities, and he found them fascinating. He thought of the gigantic buildings as towering trees, the streets as comfortable pathways, the multi-lighted nightscape as the starriest of skies. However, he thought that automobiles were probably very stupid creatures. And, without any doubt, there were too many humans.
He had heard many strange stories from the birds, who, by and large, tried to avoid flying over the city.
Because birds and elephants see things differently, he wasn’t quite sure about the distance he would have to travel to reach the city. To hear the birds tell it (and he thought they might be boasting), they could go as far between sunrise and sunset as he could in half the cycle of the moon.
That was why he was deep in conversation with the toucan, who was perched a bit precariously on the elephant’s right shoulder. But the toucan was not much help, for he was in no way fond of travel himself.
The elephant pointed out (unfortunately using the tip of his trunk, which made the toucan scramble further up his back) that toucans were not even supposed to be on the continent, so travel must be in his blood. The toucan replied that a flock of his ancestors had been caught in a hurricane and unceremoniously shuffled over the Romanche Fracture Zone at the Equator. And, although this accidental migration and the old country were part of his heritage, the toucan had no desire to go ‘home.’
The elephant became miffed and fell into an annoyed silence. He was very fond of the toucan bird and trusted him greatly, but he wondered if this was not a mild rebuke, hinting that he should stay where he was.
He felt tempted to irritate the toucan in some manner. He could wrinkle his skin and make the bird fall off or he could sneak his trunk up beside him and trumpet into his ear. A good blast would probably knock a couple of feathers off his tail. Serve him right for being a stuffy old bird.
While thinking of yet other ways to disturb his guest, the elephant suddenly felt an insistent tap against his ear. The toucan was hitting him with his big bill, and when he finally got the elephant’s attention, he pointed his bill into the sky. A cloud was slowly settling through the trees. With a squawk of satisfaction, the toucan rose into the air, giving his best regards as he flew past the cloud. The elephant ambled to the middle of the clearing and waited.
“Had I desired my birds to possess fewer tail feathers, I would have arranged it myself.”
“I wouldn’t really have done it,” said the elephant. “Just enough to startle him. He was being an old pooh.”
“Hardly a fair description of a creature who was only answering the questions you asked.”
“I didn’t like what he said.”
“That’s a reaction I often get,” said the cloud. “There’s no sense asking a question if you only want one type of answer. With choice and free will comes the chance of disappointment.”
“Chance?” The elephant snorted.
“And don’t fault the toucan his caution.” The cloud settled more comfortably. “There is a large place in life for the cautious approach.”
“Is that broad hint directed at my interest in visiting the city?”
“Could be.”
“You don’t think I should go?”
“Have you ever heard the expression ‘bull in a china shop?’”
“Yes. But I’ve never seen a china shop.” The elephant added triumphantly, “Because I’ve never been to the city.”
“Your logic seems to sharpen when it serves your purpose.” The cloud moved ever so slightly. “You come and go as you wish. I can tell you that this quest is worth neither your time nor your effort.”
“A caution?” asked the elephant.
“No,” said God. “A warning.”
“Oh,” said the elephant.
“And, if I were you, I’d have a few kind words with the toucan bird.” The cloud was now rapidly ascending. “Friends are precious and should be well-treated.”
“A warning?” asked the elephant.
“A caution,” answered God.