How The Air Feels To The Birds

This will be my very first post after the introduction. It is written from a poetic point of view, but isn't a poem. I hope you enjoy it!

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HOW THE AIR FEELS TO THE BIRDS

People always ask them, "How does the air feel to you?". Now, most birds may say, "Air feels like air," they laugh, thrusting the feathery heads back, "Just like you men would say!". But the wisest, oldest birds are always happy to oblige. With croaky voices, yet young, bright eyes, they say "Like the strand of hair falling to the ground." Like the skin of a queen, they say. "But when winter comes," they frown; it seems they do not like to talk of this,"The air is like ice-cold fingernails," the oldest and wisest bird kept his wings closer to him than ever, "Like millions of microscopic nails hurling towards you." When the birds answer these questions, they begin to get curious They want to know why we want to know. Why we spend our valuable time... listening. The answer, we say, is for science. What will you use that science for, they ask. Teaching the world, we say. Knowledge is important, and we want everyone to- "That's not all, is it?" asks the birds. They have a sad look in their eyes, almost as if they regret saying that. But we know what the birds are trying to say. 

Money, we hesitatingly say. 

We want money.