“Caw caw!” she called up at the big poplar, full of yellow leaves.
She waited, ear cocked, listening for the reply.
It came, as she expected it would, “Caw caw caw caw!” The fat black crow on the top-most branch “answered” her, just as she’d hoped.
“What are you doing?” the bus driver asked, smiling.
“Talking to the crows!” came her beaming reply.
Miss Gail laughed. “You like crows?” she laughed, “They’re so loud and common!”
G. smiled softly, “But I love them.“
The chickadees bounced and hopped across the elm that overhangs our covered porch. G. grinned merrily. “They’re so, so tiny!” she giggled.
And then, “But I love them.“
“It’s my favorite,” she explains, gently fingering the blue jay feather.
“You know… blue jays are actually kinda mean birds.”
Her steady green-blue eyes lift, “But I love them.“
I listen to this little girl. My bird lover. She looks out for them. She talks to them. She calls them each by name.
Some are common. Some are tiny. Some are mean.
She loves them all. There’s something a little bit amazing about it.
Sometimes, I’m rather common. Sometimes, I feel so small. Sometimes, I’m ashamed to admit that I’m mean.
And, still, He loves me.
He loves you, too.
And isn’t that amazing?