The Sparrow
and the colourful spectrum of experience
Hello. This post is about Death & Birds.
Last week, I accidentally spent half an hour watching a Sparrow bob in and out of a bush, fetching seeds which David had left out for him before hopping back into his vine-covered cocoon, only to hop out again moments later. It was a bitterly cold morning, but the sun was unwavering, finding its way through cloud to illuminate yellow and orange leaves, turning them into celebratory decoration.
I watched this little fellow go about his task, and my mind drifted to Norman—the Sparrow I fostered, and loved so dearly, who has now returned to whatever it might be that holds us on either side of life. That tiny bird had pulled me into such an intense, yet still all-too-brief, moment in time with him. Watching this Sparrow now, seemingly so well and intent, I was awash with gratitude for his coming into being, and for our shared beingness to have coincided on this golden morning.