Sign of Spring

Mama Bird, Baby Bird

Mama Bird, Baby Bird

Today, I held a fledgling finch I found sitting alone on the backyard patio, looking a bit stunned. At first, I thought he had flown into the glass back doors. His beak opened and closed and his little chest was heaving. He had been sitting in the sun, so perhaps he was overheated. I gently scooped him up in my hands and sat with him in the shade. When he looked like he was perking up a bit, I opened my hands and he hopped onto my knee, looking at me quizzically. I could see some baby feathers still poking out of his chest. Eventually, he flew off into the thick vines that cover the fence along our driveway, a place where finches and sparrows often nest. Later in the day, he and his mom were back out there, the little guy doing his little guy bird dance, begging for his mom to feed him.

It’s always a gift, this rare, intimate connection with the backyard wildlife.

A Feather

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A Feather

A Feather

A feather is trimmed, it is trimmed by the light and the bug and the post, it is trimmed by little leaning and by all sorts of mounted reserves and loud volumes. It is surely cohesive.

–Gertrude Stein, from Tender Buttons