Looking through his window he wondered how the rain could fall in such a precise pattern...plop, plop, plop...the rain spattered the window making it hard to see outside. The looming gray clouds looked more menacing the closer they got and it scared him.
He was a boy at the age of eight looking out at thunder and lightning and rain. His blond hair shook as it was around three inches long. His blue eyes, wide and alert, scanned the yard as they always did at night. Built like his father, but with the face of his mother, he was always reminded of his parents.
The rain stopped its plop, plop, plopping for a minute...or was it an hour...then resumed.
Coming into his room as she always did at night, his mother sat down beside the boy. Softly, with a melodic voice, she lulled him to sleep. He was resting peacefully in his mother's arms as she carried him over and put him in his bed. She lifted the covers and put him down gently, so he would not awaken.
Though his bed was across the room from his window, he always seemed to be watching the window for something. Even his mother has no clue of what he was waiting for.
As if it had been waiting there, a sparrow flew to the closed window and beat its wings to be let in. Instantly, the boy was alert. He crawled out of bed and ran to open the window. As soon as he opened it, however, the sparrow had flown away, into the night.
Disheartened, and with a cast down look on his face, he went to bed and slept soundly until morning.
In the morning his mother asked him if something had happened during the night.
He then turned to her and replied, "I tried to opening my window to let in hope for a better world, Mom, but it flew away."