Of birds and branches

There was once a flock of birds, all of them from the same land. Each born and each grew on the same tree, each of them choosing a very special branch as their favorite branch on the tree. Everyday they would be caught chirping and playing about on the same branch. Though with the coming rain or storm they would never stray afar from the branch. 

But then came the winter winds, and the flock disbursed. Seasons came and seasons past, one by one, the birds would always return to that particular branch. All except for one, blown by the stormy winds and remained stranded on an island. Now the island wasn't such a bad place, the branches were abundant and the food was aplenty but the bird always sought to return one day. Waiting and waiting to develop its strength to fly over an expanse of the wide ocean. 

As the bird regained its strength, it flew again to find its place of birth. Its place of fond memories. But to no avail was the effort of the bird. 

It was all too late, the branch had broke and the tree had withered away, leaving not even a shadow of its past. 

The flock had flew to another tree, another branch, all unknown to the stranded bird. Dejected and broken, it flew back to the island, always reminiscing of its fond memories of past.

Bidding for time as its age passed, bidding for strength as its wings weakened. Bidding for the past which now lie in rubble of uncertainty.