Behind the Puddle

 I think the birds know Brian’s schedule.

This afternoon he filled every feeder, and before he had even settled back down, they were covered with sparrows and finches. It was almost as if someone had quietly announced, “The buffet is open.” Well…almost every feeder.

The one hanging from the pine tree had a single little bird perched on it, facing outward instead of toward the seed. It looked very much like it was standing guard, announcing to the neighborhood, “This one’s mine.”

Eventually it turned around and enjoyed a quiet meal by itself. The others didn’t seem to mind.

Some gathered at the maple tree feeders while many more stayed on the ground, happily picking through the seed the geese had scattered after spending a long lunch grazing on the grass. Around here, nothing really goes to waste. One visitor unknowingly leaves something behind for another.

It’s easy to overlook sparrows and finches. They’re common. They’re everywhere. Many people spend their time hoping for colorful visitors while shooing away the little brown birds that seem to arrive by the dozens. But sitting behind the puddle has changed the way I see them.

There is something comforting about their ordinary presence. They don’t need to be rare to be beautiful. They don’t need dramatic feathers or impressive songs to deserve a place here. Together they create movement, conversation, and life beneath the trees.

I’ve realized that I don’t need extraordinary wildlife to feel wonder. Sometimes wonder arrives as twenty sparrows fluttering beneath a feeder. Sometimes it looks like one tiny bird confidently claiming the feeder in the pine tree.

And sometimes it is simply realizing that an ordinary afternoon can become extraordinary if we choose to notice it.

Behind the puddle, I’ve learned that there are no “just” sparrows. There are only neighbors I hadn’t taken the time to truly know before.