No one could have been more surprised than Beatrice when her last offspring emerged from its shell covered in silver sequins. Neither she nor the little one’s father, Norbert, came from a family of glittery birds, yet there amongst her downy brood was a tiny, squawking sparkler.

Norbert tried not to be rattled by the sight of his hatchling, but he couldn’t help it. The sequins unnerved him. And, after a few minutes of Beatrice’s doting and cooing, he finally shook his head, and said, “How are you going to sit on him? His plumage is too sharp.”

“How do you know it’s a ‘he?’” Beatrice pursed her beak.

“Of course it’s a ‘he.’” Norbert tried to lift a sequin with his talons, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Right,” Beatrice snickered, and pulled her baby under her wing. “Until we know for sure, I’m calling it Whimsy.”

Norbert groaned. ”That’s a name for a schnauzer,”

But Beatrice ignored him. “Get dinner.”

And Norbert flew off, chirping “Schnauzer,” as he went in search of worms.

***

By the time Whimsy was grown enough to leave the nest, Beatrice and Norbert had determined, following a heated argument in which there was much feather ruffling, that he was indeed a male. As a teenage bird, Whimsy’s sequins had become not only sharp at the edges, but also so large and luminous that other birds had to look away when they were in flight. When he was on the ground foraging for worms, foxes ran for their holes, and rabbits and chipmunks ducked into their warrens and favorite drain pipes. Even the feral cats avoided him, as the glare he created hurt their eyes…

…which caused Norbert to shake his head and say, “Not good.”

***

Now, it happened that one bright, cloudless day, when Whimsy was soaring high above the trees, the sun looked down and saw its face reflected in Whimsy’s sequins. As it had never really seen itself before—earth’s water was too murky, and the rain too broken and muddled—it asked the moon, “What was that?”

The moon yawned, “Bird.”

“I know it’s a bird.” The sun spit a fireball into space. “But there was something reflected on it, something golden.”

“Don’t you know your own face?” The moon laughed.

The sun said. “Truly? Am I that spectacular?”

The moon sneered. “No. You are a hyperbolic, self-impressed gasbag.”

But the sun had stopped listening. Once again, it had caught sight of itself as Whimsy flew by and roared, “You are wrong. It is as I suspected: I am magnificent.”

Meanwhile, Norbert, who had been flying near the edge of earth’s atmosphere, and had heard the sun and moon’s exchange, zoomed back to the nest to tell Beatrice. “The sun has seen itself in Whimsy and has fallen in love.”

“In love? With our baby?” Beatrice didn’t understand Norbert’s alarm. “I must tell the girls. What an honor.”

“No.” Norbert hopped up and down, “Not with our baby. The sun has fallen in love with itself. Now it will want more.”

Beatrice looked a long while into her mate’s bottomless little eyes, and said, “Oh. Ewwww….”

***

At first, the sun was wise enough to keep a safe distance from Whimsy. The last thing it wanted was to destroy its one true mirror, particularly since it had already charred a few of Whimsy’s tail sequins one morning when it wanted a better look at itself. But this didn’t stop it from stalking the little bird, and wreaking havoc on Earth.

One hour it was dark, the next light; one hour it was cold, and the next sweltering. People didn’t know whether to sleep or rise, garb themselves in layers, or strip. Plants became hopelessly confused, first blooming, then wilting. Animals forgot how to hibernate, and suffered from insomnia, and birds didn’t know whether to migrate or stay put. The only creatures who seemed pleased by the changes were cockroaches and dung beetles—the former because they thrived within city walls and foundations and were never much affected by changes in time or weather anyway, and the latter because the disruption had an acutely unpleasant affect on bovine digestive systems.

In the meantime, Earth’s scientists scrambled up to their observatories to study the Sun’s erratic behavior. It was shifting so haphazardly that it had drawn the earth into a topsy-turvy spin around it, which accounted for the bizarre fluctuations in daylight and weather. After a week of sleepless nights, and no answers, they went home and took long naps.

But Norbert was a wreck, because, as an adult bird, he knew what was coming, and that when it did, the sun’s response to it would be disastrous.

The Moon, who was much wiser than the Sun about the natural order of things, and birds in particular, also knew what was coming. It thought about warning the sun, but, given its resentment over spending an eternity in the sun’s shadow, and the sun’s wont to rub this fact in the moon’s face every chance it got, it decided to keep silent. Ultimately, the bird would molt, as all birds did, and the sun would just have to deal with it.

Whimsy, of course, had no idea what was facing him, and soared through the atmosphere, flitting from branch to branch, without a care in the world…until one of his sequins dropped off.

It happened with a slight tingling, like an itch under his left wing. The silvery piece dangled for a second, then dropped into the air, floating and fluttering on a breeze. He didn’t think much of it, until a few flaps later, more sequins loosened, and danced free in the atmosphere.

Naturally, Whimsy was frantic, and zoomed home.

“Mama, Mama,” he cried, “look!”

As soon as Beatrice saw Whimsy’s loosening sequins, she hoisted him into the densest branches of a nearby tree and ordered him to stay put. Then she sped off to Norbert’s favorite hangout—the top of a century old oak. He had a prime view of the sun there and was able to keep track of just how closely it was stalking Whimsy.

When Beatrice appeared, breathless and fluttering, chirping, “Whimsy is molting. What are we going to do?” Norbert streaked back to where Whimsy was hiding.

By the time he reached the tree, a thousand sequins had fallen from it, forming a silvery rug on the grass around its trunk, while poor, bald Whimsy shivered behind the leaves, and the sun started a slow descent toward the fractured mirror.

Beatrice caught up to her mate and sobbed, “We are doomed!”

The sun’s steady approach was beginning to singe their tails.

As Whimsy shook and shook, and the rest of his sequins drifted to the ground, Norbert took off after them.

“Where are you going?” Beatrice screeched.

“To get those sequins!”

Norbert stuffed his beak with as many of the silver pieces as he could. Other birds, who were starting to feel themselves cook, did the same.

One by one birds filled their beaks with sequins, and one by one they launched themselves as high as they could into the atmosphere and flung the bits of silvery plumage into the sun.

The Sun, stunned by the assault, and terrified by the sight of its fractured face hurtling toward it, stopped its progress, and backed away to where none of the shards could reach it. But the Moon wasn’t so lucky. As it was closer to earth than the sun, many of the sequins reached its surface, creating pits and pockets everywhere they struck.

Meanwhile, Whimsy continued to shiver under his mama’s wing, and wonder what he had done to deserve such a reckoning….

But, in time, he grew regular feathers, and stopped shivering.

As for the Sun, it went back to taunting the moon, while the moon took to scratching itself, a condition that worsened when earthlings started to mine it. Apparently, someone told them silver was buried there….

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