The Parrot Who Painted the Jungle

The Parrot Who Painted the Jungle

High in a jungle where the leaves shimmered like emerald glass and the sky glowed turquoise at dawn, lived a parrot named Lumo.

Lumo was not an ordinary bird.

His feathers carried every color the world could dream of—sunset pink on his wings, golden yellow beneath his chest, deep ocean blue at his tail, and a bright red beak that curved like a smile. The other birds said he looked as if the rainbow had chosen him as its home.

But Lumo had a secret.

Every morning, he perched on his favorite branch and sang.

His song was soft at first—just a gentle whistle—but as it rose, something magical happened. Wherever the sound traveled, colors grew stronger. Dull leaves turned vivid. Pale flowers blushed bright. Even the shadows gained warmth.

Lumo was painting the jungle with music.

One day, a quiet gray fog drifted in from beyond the hills. It settled over the forest, dimming the greens and muting the blossoms. The butterflies flew lower. The monkeys grew silent. Even the river seemed to slow.

The jungle was losing its sparkle.

Lumo felt it in his feathers.

He fluttered to the highest branch and took a deep breath. This time, he didn’t sing softly. He sang with everything inside him—joy, courage, memory, and hope. His voice echoed through vines and valleys, across treetops and streams.

The fog began to lift.

Pink returned to petals. Yellow poured back into sunlight. Blue spilled into the sky. The jungle awakened, brighter than before, and every creature felt lighter in their hearts.

From that day on, whenever the forest seemed tired or the colors began to fade, Lumo would sing again.

And the jungle remembered:

Even when the world grows gray, there is always someone who carries color.