On the days I leave home to teach, I get up at 6 a.m. and before the sun peaks over the horizon I put out seed for the wild birds in our backyard.
On those dark and chilly mornings, there's recently been this tiny female sparrow who awaits me, up before any other bird stirs, eager to be the first to feast on the seed I put into the feeders each dawn. Every time, she startles me more than I startle her.
Hopping away from my clumsy half-awakened step at the spot where I put seed on the ground, or moving belatedly away from the ledge of the bird feeder, she doesn't seem scared of me. It's more like she's going through the motions of what a wild bird must do so I can get on with my business of putting the seeds out. I've wondered whether she is old or ill because she moves so unhurriedly and seems so unafraid.
Today, my husband found a dead female sparrow on the frozen ground under the bird feeder, one of the many sparrows we've found who didn't make it through this harshest of winters.
Shakespeare's Hamlet said: "There is a special providence in the fall of a sparrow." I fervently hope so.
2 comments:
It has indeed been brutal this year. This afternoon, getting ready to go out to the grocery, I found a tuft of grey fur in the snow beside my car. No animal attached--but a substantial chunk missing from whatever left it there.
Dear Dr. S, How sad! At least we know that spring will happen regardless and despite all of winter's fury and deathly designs. Thanks for commenting! :)
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