Open hand

I went for a walk.

On the path, I stopped when I noticed a real close-by chickadee, checking me out. I held out my empty palm--maybe, despite my lack of offering, I could entice him to visit? Soon I was swarmed with inquisitive chickadees, a good dozen at least, all debating noisily the merits of my invitation. "Does she have anything in that hand?" they asked. Much flying back in forth was required to determine whether or not I did. Level of said discussion increased as more and more birds arrived on the scene and had to be filled in on what was going on. "There's this girl there, and..." Their cries were small and sharp in my ears, I was dizzied and awed by their frenzied numbers and extreme cuteness. I waited to see what would come next.

Well. I was tried, and found wanting.

"She's got nothing!" one of them finally chirped out authoritatively. "What does she think this is, a petting zoo for fasting birds?" was the indignated response.

I didn't realize I had offended them until one flew above me and pooped in my hand.

I had been reading Buechner that morning, how unless you understand the Gospel as comedy, you don't understand it at all.

I had to laugh. I went on walking.