The Morning Guest

Yesterday I awakened at sunrise as usual and went out to the kitchen to brew a pot of good dark Columbian coffee, opening the sliding doors onto the deck first to let Cassie go out into the garden and play in the snow which had fallen overnight. Like most German Shorthair Pointers, her enthusiasm for winter, snow and ice is a fleeting thing, and she does not remain outside long - she ran around the garden at top speed a few times, then raced back into the house when she started to feel the cold.

Still half asleep, I waited in the kitchen for the coffee to complete its burbling, then poured a large mug of lovely black stuff, added cream and took my morning potion into the dining room to drink quietly - I cherish this small early morning ritual, and it is how I always begin my day.

To my amazement, there in the dining room was a delicate house sparrow, perched contentedly on the back of a chair, warming himself in the pale morning sunlight coming in through the glass doors. What to do? I did not wish to alarm my small friend, so I slid the doors quietly open and waited nearby without moving. For a few moments the little cock sparrow looked around cautiously, then flew out through the open doorway, perching in a buckthorn bush several feet away and chirping merrily at me as he flew.

In summer my garden is full of birds at sunrise, and they are bright notes in a already colorful season. Cardinals, jays, flickers and house finches are among the frequent dabblers in the old stone birdbath, and I always enjoy watching their shenanigans, but the birds who visit my feeders in winter are a special gift. My winter visitors are less showy and less brilliantly feathered than their summer kin, but they are the wandering bards who faithfully visit my hearth in winter, and they remain true to the covenant formed many years ago, one in which nourishment and shelter are given in return for song and fellowship in the long nights time.