Wish I Had a Stalk of Barley
Tiny Terry Titmouse peeks at me from a wee stalk of barley.
Is he consuming this plant?
Is this his home or his slumbering place?
I watch his eyes flicker open.
He does not appear to be afraid.
He makes no moves.
A country mouse for sure.
Slow and steady, not wasting any energy.
I admire him.
No hurry.
No scurry.
No hustle or bustle.
Does he have any idea how lucky he is?
I think of my city life, and I shudder.
Wishing I had my own stalk of barley.
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