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.