Monday, June 17

the wren

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What a day it is outside. Perfection.


Yesterday I put out a big grapevine nest I had collected from the woods and enjoyed inside for a time. I placed it on top of the old light fixture on the back porch and by the time I was brushing my teeth at bathtime later I noticed a wren sitting on it looking about. When it got dark I went out into the headiness of the night, singing with frogs, to look at the new quarter moon blazing through the tree branches. It felt like being at the bottom of the ocean and looking up to see moonlight trembling on the surface far above. I checked the nest and could just make out the silhouette of a tail jutting up from the bowl of it; the wren was sleeping there. I stood there feeling the poignancy and vulnerability of its little life just an arm's reach away, and then left it to its dreaming while I went to bed.




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