A Cardinal talked to me Sunday morning from the branches of a leafless tree. I was bent over, pitching forks of chipped tree branch mulch into the wheel barrow in a kind of meditative stupor when I heard it singing overhead.
Tweeeet. Bit-twoo, bit-twoo, bit-twoo, bit-twoo.
The sky was grey, and there was a slight drizzle in the air. I stood up and leaned on the pitch fork and looked up into the branches to where it was perched. It was bright red against the greyness all around.
I’m not quite sure why I’m telling you this. No… that’s not right. The fact of the matter is that I’m not talking to you. I’m talking to my grandmother, just letting her know about a singing Redbird in the upper reaches of my Ash tree. She would have wanted to know.