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When a Wren

              This spring came in all at once as is often the case in Oklahoma. The weather was still cool but warm enough for Carey to open the doors and windows. The family was all out. It was a  perfect time to clean.

               The morning had gone so well with her. Everything was becoming fresh and sweet smelling even to the winter fabrics on the windows which had been removed and washed. Carey's neighbor had dropped in for a cup of coffee while they chatted about this and that.

               All at once a tiny little bird zipped in the back door, flew speedily through the living room and on down the hall to a bedroom.

            “You have to find it and kill it. It is the worst of bad luck, you know.”  The friend was all but babbling to Carey.

             Carey was thoughtful as she began to search the bedroom for its hiding place.

            “I think it was a Wren.”  Carey told her visitor.  For all the years they had lived on the windy hill there had never been the thrilling, exciting sound of a Wren warbling song. They had planted and planted ground cover and trees but possibly this little bird just wasn't up to the gales that could lift anything and everything from the ground.

              “She came in here. I saw her fly through the door.”  Carey was searching all over the room for the bird. She looked under the bed, behind the drapes and under chairs. After not finding the bird in the
closet she looked to one of the lower shelves close to the floor. There she was. The tiny bird was huddled as close to the corner as she could.

              “Oh there you are!”  Carey exclaimed.  “Now how am I going to get you out of that tight spot?”

              The woman pulled one of the big fluffy towels from its place and ever so slowly covered the bird with it. In this way she was able to gingerly pick it up within the folds of the terry cloth. Since the bird was lodged in the corner at the bottom of the shelf it had no way to get away.

              All the while her company was watching her with frightened eyes as big as a wall eyed horse's would have been.

              Carey took the towel to the back door to the outdoors while she carefully unfolded it. The tiny Wren hurriedly flew as though he had been released from a bow,  straight as an arrow made her escape.

            “Oh my! I can't believe you let that  bad  messenger  go. That is such a sure sign and it isn't good, I'm telling you.” The neighbor woman was truly concerned.

             “She was so small and frightened.”  Carey smiled.

               It wasn't too long after that Carey noticed the Wren flying in and out of an old, small,  cardboard box left at the bottom of some outdoor shelves. The box was heavy and once held nails. Carey's husband had used them all but the box which was still there.

              “There is an empty  cardboard  box on the bottom of those shelves out past the back door. Don't throw it away.  I think a Wren has made a nest there.”  Carey told her husband.

                “Awfully close to the door. I hope the little birds make it.  The mother could get frightened away.”

                Carey glanced toward the back door. “Oh they will make it. She knows she is secure.”

                Twenty years later a little tiny Wren hopped on the white wrought iron chair outside the window. For an instant she peeped into the window at Carey.  In a Wren's  way it was there and then gone.   Later a large warbling song full of all the joy of life could be heard.

            Carey pushed her gray locks of hair back from her face as she stepped out of the house into the winds of  spring time there on the hill.

             “Little Lady Wren, my acquaintance of long ago, you and your sons and daughter's have added more pleasure to this old place than anything I know. What a wonderful scale of thank you notes you give me each year.

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