A TITMOUSE

A titmouse headed for the sea: the small bird bragged intending to burn the ocean. So it was rumored in the world. The residents of the Neptunian capital were frighten to death; birds flew in flocks; meantime the animals from the forests came running together to look how and whether hotly the ocean will burn. And even they say the desirous ones of hanging out in feasts were among the first to appear at the coast with their spoons so that to taste such rich fish soup to which by any bountiful leaseholder no bureaucrat was regaled. Crowding: everyone kept silence and waited for a miracle beforehand; only somebody occasionally whispered: “Here it’s on the point to boil, there it’s about to burn right away!” It wasn’t to be: the sea wouldn’t burn. Whether it boiled at least? Also it didn’t boil. What did come of this big idea? The titmouse went home with shame; it got all worked up over nothing but never had burnt the sea.