“Look, Dad! The birds have come!”
It wasn’t long after dawn. Gently, we lifted the blinds on our front windows to get a better look. Perched on a branch of our little sapping tree a robin pecked away at our pine cone bird feeder.
“That’s a male,” my daughter said. “See his red stomach?” She got her camera and took some pictures. We sat and on the carpet, my daughter hunched over the heating vent in the floor, and watched for a while. The twittering songs around our window increased and birds took turns fluttering down from higher trees to snack on our seeds.
At least 5 different birds came.
I went to see Lars last night around seven. He wasn’t in his usual spot, but his blanket was there. So I put down some granola bars and a five, sat down at what would be an appropriate “social distance” if he were to return, and decided I’d watch the sun until it set.
When Lars showed up, he was in bad shape. “I can’t talk.”
“That’s alright.”
“I can’t talk today. It’s been really bad these last few days with everything closed.”
It broke my heart how stressed out he was. I stayed quiet in my spot and he settled down onto his blanket, a sparrow with broken wings on a concrete nest. The sun sank slowly, passing behind clouds then peaking out again before dropping behind the foot of the mountain. All the while Lars chirped his wounded song.
