It’s that time of year,
birds occasionally crash into our house
as it’s passive solar with a lot of glass
on the south side.
We heard a thump and went out to find:
This little guy.
A red-breasted nuthatch.
Stunned but alert.
Feet for perching,
and for climbing down trees headfirst.
So tiny. So light. So delicately perfect.
‘Are not two sparrows sold for a penny?
Yet not one of them will fall to the ground
outside your Father’s care.’