In Massachusetts, birds find rest on their way south. Their migrating ceases at night. This morning, I sat on the back stoop feeding one such bird – awake at first light. “Your bravery astounds me, my wee little one.” She cocked her rufous head to the side and listened. I began to sing, “Too Ra, Loo Ra, Loo Ral” as I grabbed more bread for her. She moved closer. Again closer. Still she listened. Then as suddenly as she arrived, she was gone. Blessed, my heart soared even as the birds.