In another time, in another world, this would have been the symbol of despair.

The songbird was oblivious. He perched on the ledge of a stubby mountain, with two fat worms clasped in his beak, and his chest puffed up with purpose. The songbird knew it was a good day. The sky was clear, the air crisp, the sun bright but not uncomfortably so. It was a good day, he knew, and he spread his wings as life unfolded beneath him.

As far as the eye could see, grass, flowers, and trees blanketed the land in greenery. Small herbivores bounded in and out of the mountains, while birdcalls graced the sky above. Nature had reclaimed what was rightfully hers. It was peaceful, it was vibrant, and it was empty.

In another time, in another world, this would have been the perfect future.

The songbird didn't know the future, but it knew what perfect was. Perfect was a good day, and a good day meant his chicks would be fed. There was no yesterday, or tomorrow, only the now. And now, now he was flying on the back of the wind, weaving through the mountains with his mate as they returned to the nest.

The mountains were crumbling. Once tall and proud, they now leaned heavily on each other, a strange assortment of fingers tentatively reaching for the sky. Flora snaked up the sides, looped in and out of the tunnels, and broke through rock to quilt the mountains in a layer of life. An odd relationship, one could say. The mountains did not belong in this strange new land. Nor did the ice, nor did the jagged bones or rusted steel. But Nature has chosen to call this home, and thus the mountains have stayed.

In another time, in another world, this would have been a sign of hope.

A songbird that didn't know the wrongs in the world, didn't know what would happen other than if his chicks starved, the world would end. Hope, captured in the image of a simple-minded creature. And yes, there was simplicity in which the songbird and his mate fed his chicks, the way the hungry cries for food subdued as bellies were filled and basic needs were met.

But the songbird knew the world was a dangerous place. He knew that coyotes and snakes lurked within the mountains. He knew of the mountains' invisible teeth that played tricks on the eyes, and more than once have claimed a bird's life. He even knew of the vicious, cunning creatures that rumours said would return and bring certain death with them.

Yet the dangers of the world were beyond the songbird's concerns. Today was all that mattered. For now, as long as his family could rest for the night, there was nothing else to do than live for tomorrow's hunt.

In another world, this day would've been one of many small, nameless moments lost within the blink of the universe's eye. But the bird called it a good day, and so a good day it was.