A few weeks ago, every time I went out the front door after dark, I heard a flutter of wings and could just catch the silhouette of a winged form as it disappeared into the trees.
The first few times, I thought it was a bat, but then I finally got a look at it, and instead of just seeing motion flitting into the night, I was able to recognize the motion as the flapping of bird wings. On another night, instead of charging out the front door, I peered at it through the blinds and saw a small sparrow house finch huddled against the porch light.
It’s gotten to where I glance out the window at him each night as if to say good night to this creature who has decided to make himself at home here. When I heard that it was going to get cold, I made sure there was seed in the feeder, which I hadn’t done in weeks, and each of these icy mornings, I’ve found myself relieved to see that he’s still there when I go out to get the paper.
There’s no nest construction going on, and it seems an unlikely spot for a nest anyway. I suspect it’s just a convenient way station between here and there, then and later, but it pleases me to know that that little bird finds our front porch to be a place of refuge, a home, however fleeting it may be.
