House of Sticks

 

House of Sticks

My wife’s typical morning routine is to start her day by attending a water aerobics class at the local Y.  If the weather is decent, when she comes home she brings her gym bag around to the patio and drapes her towel and swimsuit over the back of a couple of the chairs, so they can dry off in the morning air.  That’s what she did this morning. 

I had a meeting, so I didn’t get home until lunch time.  I glanced out the patio door.  I noticed a little wren hopping right down the flagstone path that leads from the patio around to the front door and the driveway.  The little bird flew up onto one of the branches of the birch tree and let out three calling sequences in a row.  Wrens are tiny birds, probably only the hummingbirds are smaller, at least in our neck of the woods.  But they can sing as beautifully and as loudly as many of the larger birds.

Then he flew over to the patio table and landed on Michelle’s gym bag that she had left there.  I chuckled as the wren hopped inside the bag.  He emerged just a few seconds later and took off.  Before I could tell Michelle what I just saw, the wren returned; this time he had a little branch in his beak.  He hopped into the gym bag.  A few seconds later he emerged again; this time without the branch.  “I think that you have a little wren building a nest in your gym bag.”  Michelle came and stood next to me.  In less than a minute the wren returned with another twig, hopped inside the gym bag, and re-emerged without the twig.  No doubt now about his intentions.

Michelle went out and grabbed her gym bag off of the table.  She looked inside and chuckled.  There were dozens of twigs in the gym bag.  The wren had been working diligently in the couple of hours that the gym bag had been there.  She took a couple of pictures of the wren’s hard work before dumping the twigs out on a neat little pile nearby.  “He can have the twigs back, but I need my gym bag back.”

About thirty minutes later it had warmed to the point that we went out to sit by the patio table and enjoy a cup of coffee.  As we sat there talking and sipping, the little wren landed on the table exactly where the gym bag had been.  He turned and looked right at me, and burst out in song.  A wren just can’t be angry I guess; it’s just not in him.  I think he was upset, but he didn’t have the vocabulary for it.  He flew off, but over the next hour I spotted him several other times.  I hope he doesn’t give up on the thought of nesting in our yard; his song is always welcome.  It might save him some needless work though, if he’d discuss location with me before he builds the next time.  

“Unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labor in vain.  Unless the Lord guards the city, the guard keeps watch in vain.  It is in vain that you rise up early and go late to rest, eating the bread of anxious toil; for he gives sleep to his beloved.” Psalm 127:1-2

His Peace <><

Deacon Dan