Watching a Wren

I've been trying to stay away from politics.

It's not that I don't have anything to say, but my thoughts are gut wrenching, and they don't take me anywhere. They just amount to ranting and whining, because I don't have any suggestions on how to fix these things that seem so broken.

Broken? What's broken? And then it starts. But you see, that's just what I'm trying to avoid.

I watched a Wren roll in the dust yesterday. It flipped and flopped on the north side of the house in a patch of newly turned dirt. It didn't see me standing there, although it poked its head up to look around every few seconds. So I stood and watched as it flapped its wings and turned upside down, tossing up little clouds of dust now and then, blending in perfectly with the color of the dirt.

A breeze came up from the east and gently pushed the gate open. The Wren stopped for a moment and then resumed. A car drove by, breaking the silence. The Wren stopped for a moment and then resumed. A woman walked by in the street, walking her dog after a day at work. Again the Wren looked up, and again it returned to what it was doing.

This went on for quite a while. I stood by the gate watching, wondering if our neighbors could see me. But I got impatient. My legs were restless, and the breeze had gone. It was hot, and there seemed to be no end to the Wren's plans to dig himself a deeper hole. So I slowly walked toward the pile of dirt.

Of course, the Wren saw me. It hopped first to a Mesquite log nearby and then to the rain barrel. It briefly looked back and then flew to the roof and then into the branches of the Live Oak tree. And then it was gone.

And that's a better story then whining about Dick Cheney's America.

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