The gales are howling again here tonight. The branches in the garden are fast losing their remaining leaves; one good frost and winter will be complete. For now, there are still little geraniums and the odd sheltered rose still in bloom and the honeysuckle hedge, shaggy, evergreen and in desperate need of an autumnal haircut, still houses the colony of sparrows it has protected all year.
Although most of the little birds are staying safely amid the intertwined branches, a few ventured forth in search of dinner. I watched as they flew through the clouds of wind-whipped leaves; not perhaps quite as joyfully as usual, but still following their chosen path.
Not for the first time, I was amazed by the strength in these tiny wings.
Have you ever held a sparrow? They weigh no more than cotton wool, barely registering in the scale of your hand. Their delicate bones…
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