Wrens

When I bought my first house, my mother gave me a birdhouse. It's a tiny little white wooden house hanging in my Rose of Sharon which was, at the time, the closest thing I had to a tree.

It has hung there for three summers. Generally, I find myself too busy to stop and admire whether or not the birds have decided to nest in it. In fact, it is so close to my neighbor's fence that my neighbor is generally more 'in the know' about what is residing in the little white house than I am.

Over the past two years we've acquired two cats as well. A larger male tabby named Lex and a small black and white female we named Harlequin. They generally do not get along well, preferring to reside on different floors of the house when they can, so one can imagine my surprise when I spotted both of them sitting in the windowsill which overlooks the patio and the Rose of Sharon.


I decided to venture out to the patio and watch for a little, much to a little wren's chagrin. It took me awhile before I could visually locate the chatter, but I soon realized it was either the male or female wren in the Rose of Sharon complaining about my proximity to the little white birdhouse. I had a seat so as to appear less threatening.

For thirty minutes I watched as male and female wren took turns coming to the house and feeding the babies. In the quiet of the afternoon I could hear the children raising their little voices, enthralled at hearing a parent near the house. It reminded me of walking into the classroom at the end of the school year when spirits are high and the students are all excited for the last days.

I haven't seen the little wren-lings yet. I just know they're there. I'm hoping if I'm diligent, I'll get the chance to see them when they first come out of the little wren house into the light of day.