Little Fish was a prize, Little Fish was a gift. One night, the true north wind decided to take him back. I told myself, fish are fish, and that he'd come home, though I knew it was a lie. Fish can dance if they take a chance. Fish can fly if they really try. I heard a whisper on the wind, “Now I am a fish out of water, but I can breathe so much better." I wrote a note on his prayer flag hoping the wind would take a message to him. The note said, "Come home." Still, to the toes of my soul I knew, fish are fish. I looked closer and saw something I didn’t before; inside I saw a hook. Then I understood he had no place else to go. So I found the best ribbon I had and I gave him back. Sometimes when the north wind blows I can feel him next to me. I get that happy sad feeling you get when you play your favorite game but still lose. Little Fish was a prize, but not for me. Little Fish was a gift for everyone. I kept his room like he left it...just in case. For Matt, Mom and Dad

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