The flutter of a silver wing at breakfast, and there was a tufted titmouse, one of my favorite birds, perched on the power line just outside the window. We peeked shyly at each other for just a second before he darted away.
Only one, when they usually travel in flocks. Was it just me or was he a little disheveled, a bit flustered around his topknot?
Yet it was a joyful sliver of morning. With this little bird on the list of disappearing species, a heartbeat of hope.
The soft or shrill voice within us
7 years ago