A Bird in the Hand . . .

So, today something happened that makes it the kind of day you remember.

It started simply enough: I was out on the balcony, getting ready to fill up the birdfeeder, when a little finch landed on the railing next to me. Noticing how closely it was watching me, and how little fear it seemed to have, I poured some birdseed from the half-empty feeder into my hand and held it out. After a short pause, it flew over and landed in my hand, where it stayed for several minutes, eating seed out of the palm of my hand, occasionally rubbing its beak on my fingers, and towards the end almost dozing off. I stayed as still as I could, though my arm got increasingly wobbly towards the end of it all. Midway through another finch landed nearby and gave the whole proceedings a careful scrutiny but decided it wasn't worth it and flew off again. As for the little finch, I'm sure it was a juvenile goldfinch: it had a spotted tum and the kind of endearingly clumsy movement associated with youngsters newly out on their own. I hope this one has a warm nest and is suitably wary of everybody but me.

And no, I didn't let Feanor Finchslayer (with three to his credit, or infamy, so far) out on the deck unsupervised today, somewhat to his annoyance. I'll make it up to him later.

--John R.