I find it interesting that we humans like to house other creatures. The birdhouse in my backyard gives me a sense of expectancy; I'm ready for feathered guests to come and stay. Yet they haven't. The birdhouse has hung empty from the start. I've tried to think of things to place nearby: bird bath, black oil sunflower seed. The house must be missing some key amenity I don't know of. Maybe the appliances are outdated.
As I write this a chickadee is checking out the place. Ah, a prospective tenant! He inspects the birdhouse roof, nipping here and there, looking around. He bobs and considers, then flits away to the feeder.
So the house remains empty. Yet having this little domicile outside my window continues to make me smile. Reminds me there are small creatures in the world, and other families besides mine. You never know. Hang your hope on a branch; something may come.
Write about a birdhouse.
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