Once, in a vast and vibrant forest, there lived two flocks of birds: the Parrots and the Crows. The Parrots, with their dazzling brightly coloured feathers and large beaks, prided themselves on their belief that the sun rose each morning because they sang to it.

“We know the Truth,” they squawked proudly. “Our songs command the dawn, and any bird who denies this is simply wrong.”

The Crows, looked on at their antics and scoffed at this notion. They believed with equal certainty that the sun rose because of the silent wisdom they whispered to the stars each night.

“We hold the Truth,” they cawed. “Those colourful fools are mistaken, and all their constant chattering noise is meaningless.”

Each day, the Parrots gathered in the treetops, singing loudly and admiring one another’s melodies. They sought out only those who agreed that their songs brought the sunrise, shunning any bird who dared to question them. Over time, their flock grew into a lively culture of music and bright rituals, where every parrot echoed the same belief.

Meanwhile, the Crows perched in the shadowy pines, exchanging their quiet wisdom and nodding solemnly at their shared certainty. They, too, avoided any who doubted their starry influence, forming a sombre society of dark feathers and deep thoughts.

One day, a curious Sparrow fluttered into the forest, her plain brown wings unnoticed by both flocks. She heard the Parrots’ songs and the Crows’ murmurs and wondered, “Why must they argue over the sun? Does it not rise for all, no matter who claims credit?”

She tried to speak with the Parrots, suggesting that perhaps the sun needed no help to rise. Offended, they flapped their wings and drove her away, crying,
“You know nothing of the Truth! – Fly with us, or fly alone!”

Undeterred, she approached the Crows, proposing the same idea. They turned their sharp beaks on her, rasping,
“Your ignorance blinds you! – Join our wisdom, or leave us be!”

The Sparrow, seeing she could not sway either side, flew off to a quiet branch. There, she met other outcasts, a Finch, a Dove, and a Wren, who also questioned the grand claims of both flocks. Together, they watched the sun rise each morning, marvelling at its beauty without needing to own it. They formed no grand group, no loud culture, but they lived in peace, unbothered by the need to prove others wrong.

Years passed, and the Parrots’ songs grew ever louder, their flock swelling with those who loved the sound of their own voices. The Crows’ whispers deepened, their circle tightening around those who revered their mystery. Yet neither flock ever convinced the other, nor did they notice the Sparrow and her friends thriving in their quiet corner.

Often, while the sun is shining brightly, large flocks of parrots can be seen flapping around squawking and chattering in the skies above. In the evening, after the sun has set, the Crows start their cawing and croaking as the night approaches.
Birds of a feather, it seems, flocked together, not out of wisdom, but out of comfort in shared certainty.

The Moral of the Story: Birds of a feather flock together, seeking those who mirror their own beliefs, but in clinging to their version of the Truth, they may miss the greater beauty that shines for all.