House Wren

Around this time every year, when doors and windows spend more time open than closed, a House Wren comes inside to nest. She’s tiny, unafraid of us or the dogs, and hard to spot other than in flight. Apparently she has money, because she owns at least four nests that I’m aware of.  Is she in the lap of the stuffed monkey? Ducking down in the overhead light? Behind the piggy bank one of the girls made in school? Maybe she’s up in the engine of the wooden train that runs the rails over the sliding glass doors? Wherever she calls home, within our home, we’re happy to share, as she is happy to share with us.