It was cold outside. Really cold. I stood at the patio door looking into the yard, holding a cup of hot tea in my hands, watching a trickle of water come from the fountain. The pond reeds were covered in ice.
Two Mourning Doves teetered on the edge of the pond trying to get some water, but each time they leaned over for a drink, they lost their balance and almost fell in. Doves need to be mighty thirsty to teeter on the edge like that over and over and risk falling into the water and ice.
I went to the stove and mixed the remaining water in the tea pot with some from the faucet. And I took it outside and filled the birdbath, melting the ice on the bottom. For a few moments, the water steamed, but before long it was barely warm to the touch. And I filled another birdbath on the other side of the yard.
I dashed back inside, shivering from the cold, wondering what the neighbors might have thought if they saw me in my slippers and robe in the yard pouring hot tea into my birdbaths.
Within moments, the Mourning Doves were back, drinking now from a birdbath rather than teetering on the pond. And then there were Sparrows. And I think I saw a Wren. And there were some Grackles, although truth be told, I’d rather not talk about Grackles. And then, the yard was filled with Starlings that swooped down from the sky. The yard was full of birds drinking their full.
It must have been the only open water in the neighborhood.