Out the window, there was a sparrow
optimistic to the point of desperation
as it gripped the too-slender branch
bouncing and swaying
a russet and black blur in
the 9 a.m. sun
but it was determined, not shaken.
Had I not been on the floor
I never would have seen it.
Such is often the way with miracles.
The last several weeks have been a flurry of home improvement activity at Casa Cunningham, and I’ve been wearing out my body and my patience with the half-dozen projects happening at once. Disorder makes me crazy, and it’s been nothing but since we had to move everything out of the bedroom and stash it wherever we could find room in the rest of the house. It all started with buying a new bed at IKEA in March and we finally got our new carpet in the bedroom Tuesday, and I’ve slowly been getting everything back to normal. The slog continued this morning, and I wasn’t sure if I would even have the time, or mental wherewithal, to come up with a blog post for this particular Friday. And then this little bird appeared outside my window, and brought this poem with him. Thanks, little sparrow.