Le cinquième jour

I took Tim's long lens and went for a long walk in the deep snow with my ghost-dog Molly to find my robins but today they weren't where I had expected them to be, and instead I found a solitary song sparrow foraging in the meadow snow, piping a little every now and then.  I think she was a female, as the males sing more than females and quite loudly, apparently.  They are very common small birds in North America, and their songs are very important to their procreation.  The male sparrows who are the most favoured by the females are those who sing the best, who have learned the most varied repertoires, in other words, those who know the most songs!

 

My little bird-friend ran along, finding tiny seeds of nourishment here and there, her delicate feet indenting the snow with tiny symmetrical prints, in places adding to the light tracks of field-mice and the rounded evidence of their snow-tunnels.  She was very intent, remaining companionably on the ground nearby for about half an hour before taking off effortlessly.  I would love to be able to do that. 

The oldest song sparrow ever recorded lived 11 years and 4 months. I wonder how many songs he knew. 

The snow today melted and softened a little from the relative warmth of the temperature, and I was suddenly tempted to make a sculpture of a snow-angel in almost the same place I had made one a few years before.  However, by the time I had finished, it was just about too dark to take a photograph, so here are the two best ones.  She is very large, larger than life-size, and dancing on her tippy-toes.   Her wings are made of wild grasses, and her head is tilted back, looking up towards her right wing, deciding where to float to next.   I would love to believe in angels, and almost do, such a perfect idea, a person who has wings like a bird and can fly. 

And here is the one from a few years' ago.  She looks much more ready to lift off.  Also a little uncomfortable, as though she had just woken up and wondered how she had become supine.