My husband had an early-morning meeting today and headed out–but forgot something and had to come right back in to get it, all the way into the bedroom, rattling around a moment.
I figured, well, I’m awake now, and after he left I went into the family room for just a moment before heading towards my morning shower.
A sudden surprised but very soft-spoken exclamation of Well hello there!
There was a little towhee, bigger than a house finch, smaller than a dove, with its droopy wings showing that it was relaxed, and it was hopping tentatively across the carpet immediately at the foot of where my knitting perch is.
This is where you build your nests with all that string, right?
We stood there a moment and considered each other in wonderment.
Why, it’s Feederfiller! I know you!
I immediately realized I was not going for a photo.Â (Camera–stage right). I was not going to take my eyes off my new friend nor throw aside the awe of the moment.
Right. So.Â The slider was close by, but I didn’t want to risk having one bird fly in while trying to herd the other out and the sunflower tower was a busy spot just then. Besides, stepping between the bird and where I wanted it to head towards was a no-go.
The towhee settled the matter by hopping/skipping/jumping ever so lightly, no concerns, towards the living room, as if it were eagerly inspecting the possibilities with its realtor in tow.
I opened the front door about halfway. I followed my new houseguest.
It never panicked, it never scrambled, it just carefully stayed the proper distance between us.
But no, honey, I don’t want you behind the organ bench, now.
Oh, okay. It fluttered up into the skylight as I stepped away.
I was concerned: I didn’t want it to get hurt hitting its wings there. I sent up a silent prayer to its Father and mine–and immediately the little thing came down just a bit and out of there, straightened up, flew, turned in front of the kitchen and went straight on out into the waiting bright sunlight through the doorway. I stood there agape for I think half a minute, trying to take in what I had just seen.
Hours later: “Did you leave the doorway open when you came back in?” Because I had found no bird poop–no sign whatsoever of the little thing being stressed, but also meaning it hadn’t been there long, either.
“I don’t know–I might–I don’t know.”
And then I told him why I wanted to know.Â I didn’t even have to tell him it had been a surprisingly beautiful experience. He totally got it.
I love that man.
And we are minding that front door a little more carefully now.
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