Just a few days after our resident tree swallows vacated the premises, this little lady showed up in one of our hanging baskets on the front porch:
We just couldn't boot her out. She's so sweet and barely takes any notice of our comings and goings - despite the fact that we pass by inches from her little roost. So there she sits and swings, in the now dead hanging basket that I can't water for fear of disturbing her nest.
It's starting to feel a lot like Assisi around here, and someone threatened to start calling me The Bird Lady today. But truth be told, I'm very happy she's here. I've missed the excitement of the Steve and Lady show, and now we'll get to watch another little avian family grow up right before our very eyes.
Are all these eggs and happy little bird families a sign? I don't know, but in some strange way it makes me feel connected to the successfully procreating world that I've felt so alienated from for so long. For forever and a day, it seems.
They're just birds, but they chose us and we can point to the birdhouse and the hanging basket and say that life grew here - right here by our sorrow-filled house.
Life found a way to return here. And that feels really good to me, even if they are only birds.