Winter Wren

Such a little pop, a flare of dinosaur. Warmly brown. Curious, but no line-crosser; a blender-in. Life in small, tight spaces, condensed heavens (or eternal ones, if the fairies have their say). But back to wrens, to the feathered belly-laughs of children, bouncing and hide-and-seeking in rocky, mossy, fallen-log regions of the shadowy wood. Quiet places. Places passed over, underappreciated. Nearly forgotten if not for the presence and eternal song of the Winter Wren.

Winter Wren by Scott Somershoe

(From the book HEARTVINES)