The Little Blue Bird

The Little Blue Bird

There once was a beautiful little blue bird. It had a plump little chest, fine, shiny blue feathers perfectly tipped in white. It could sing as no other blue bird could, a chirp, chirp here and a tweet, tweet there. When it learned to fly, it soared effortlessly almost, as the old cliche goes, on a wing and a prayer. It had no enemies really. Who could hate such a beautiful little blue bird? Even its predators didn't hate it and, after all, the little bird hadn't done anything to deserve hatred. Its place on the food chain was predetermined, but the bird knew nothing of the food chain. A lack of knowledge can sometimes be a blessing.

One day, the little blue bird was flying along, looking for food, feeling free, happy, singing when breath permitted. Suddenly, the little blue bird crashed into a glass window, and it fell, beautiful white-capped wings broken, to the ground, dead, to sing no more.

Is there anything that can be inferred from this story except that the little blue bird didn't see the glass window? That is, is there a moral to this story?