For the past three days, I’ve watched a little bird build its nest outside the monolith in which I work. It may be a sparrow, or a whippoorwill, or a crane, for all I know. I’m not an ornithologist. I can’t be an expert in everything.

Each time I see the bird, it has a little twig clamped in its beak pacing this way or that to find its chosen spot in the thicket of the garden. Today was frustrating, though. While I stood there, the bird insisted on combing the concrete walk and the rough marble wall. At one point, the poor addled thing jumped up onto the brushed steel that surrounds enormous glass panes only to see its own reflection. The bird's hopping accelerated as it became frantic to lay down its little log. I walked over, shooing it back to the brush in hopes it would find the rest of its nest. Once the talons took hold of the earth, it bolted to a familiar spot.

Some times all it takes is for someone to remind you of the right path.

Tags: tiny tales