Each year, a small brown mamma wren sets about establishing her own exacting world order within the circular green confines of a wreath that hangs on my front door. The effort meets with varying success, if one is focused on the end result.
And one never does know the end. With Adrienne and the loss of her in my heart today, I tend to side with the industrious little wren, whose little wings beat in perfect synchronicity with the moment in which she pecks, sings, and flies.
Her gift to the world comes with each day.
First, a nest of colored eggs.
And then, a miracle times five.