Little sparrow, I see you.
Peering in the window at me,
A question in your eyes,
As well as in the tilt of your tiny head.
Now here comes a coal tit,
Sleeker, busier, pecking frenetically
At the empty feeder,
Then scanning dejectedly
Around itself for more food
To appear, as if by magic,
Out of thin air.

Then two proud, handsome gold finches,
Glide easily over the hedge.
Chests out, they scatter the lesser birds
From their path.
Then, one finch either side of the feeder,
They check out its contents.
And, finding it bare,
They dart off again, as one,
Sailing up and over the hedge and away,
To search for better pickings,
Elsewhere.

How calming yet energising
It has been, as each week passed,
Just watching the birds at the feeder.
And though our seed ran out days ago,
The birds just won’t give up on it.
Still persevering busily,
Checking every day,
Hope in their eyes,
And in their hearts,
For better days to come.
Just the same as we’re all doing.

By Alice (McKie) Muir