Ever since I was a little girl, I had watched the birds dive and swoop through the air. Gliding and soaring over tree-tops and houses. When I had walked, hand-in-hand, with my Gramps through the park we’d collect their feathers. eend feathers, zwaan-, zwaan feathers. If we were lucky and searched hard we would sometimes come across abandoned nests with hollow eggs left inside. I would handle them with great care, like they were going to crack any minuut and out would pop a brand new baby bird.
‘Can I be a bird, Gramps?’ I always used to ask.
‘You can. Do u want me to teach u how to be a...
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