Connect

When the feeder is close to empty, a few birds take it in turns to tap on the window - usually the cheeky blue tits and robins. They seem to know enough about windows to hit the glass with sufficient force to get my attention while doing no damage to themselves. I love these brief exchanges: their morse code delivered by beak and my humble provision of sunflower seeds. They seem especially hungry after rain. They vanish in a pantomime of caution as I replace the feeder and appear seconds later hanging off the wire cages like passengers on an Indian train. I slow down to watch the comings and goings and listen to the chorus so easy to miss as we move around our human dwellings. This connection matters, means something, brings me to a quieter place where I am not the main current but in the slipstream of life.