Wren

Wren lives in the bird house that hangs from the dogwood tree above the Western Strawberry patch. It's picking season, and she is not happy when I show up in the morning. She is about twice the size of my thumb, but she doesn't hesitate to let me know how unwelcome I am. She perches not three feet from me and calls the alarm. I don't know if she would call it courage, but I have a deep sense of respect for her willingness to place herself in harms way to protect her babies.

Wren gets me thinking about how when she is faced with what might seem like insurmountable odds, she stands up anyway. I could spend a lot of time thinking about why she does it, but I won't. In stead, I'll just remember her getting in my face because that's what she's doing. She does it because she does it. What difficult action might I take, not because I have weighed the odds, but because it is the next right step in my path?