Though Haggard, She Still Belted Out Her Song of Praise
Bless her heart. She was a haggard little thing. Feathers were askew, falling out, barely hanging on. Molting? Maybe. I’m not sure. What I am sure of is how she spoke to me this morning.
There’s a birdfeeder right by my window beside the couch where I enjoy my quiet time in the mornings. From this vantage point I can watch the world awaken with its dawning light, its mist lifting over the creek, and listen to the birdsong.
It was birdsong that drew my attention to the tiny haggard wren — she was bursting with song!
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