This morning I was reading in the bathroom--I know, TMI, but that's what I was doing. I was startled by a scrabbling noise from behind me. I was alone, and there was no sign of our cats, so what could be in the bathroom with me?
I turned to the open window and was enchanted to see two female goldfinches clinging to the outside of the screen. They were pecking at something in the holes of the screen, something so small I couldn't see it. Maybe tiny insects? Although why would tiny bugs want to live on window screens? So many questions, so little data.
But why did I need to know why the birds were there? Did it really matter why they were so intent on hopping about, often hanging nearly upside down, their delicate little claws circling the thin wire of the screen? The real magic was that they were there, oblivious to the comparatively huge human creature on the other side of the screen.
I studied the soft grey, black and white patterns of their feathers, their small bright eyes and petite little beaks. I enjoyed the sounds--the soft flutters of wings, the tapping of their beaks against the screen, and that rattling, scratching sound of their toes as they moved from perch to perch. Tiny miracles of feathers and minuscule beating hearts. Fragile, perfect reminders that the world is filled with wonders easily overlooked.
Good morning, lesser goldfinches! You have made it a very good morning indeed!
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