Unjust deserts

The other night I heard crows in real anger. I went outside and saw a pair looking down behind a neighbour's shed and shouting, shouting, shouting. Their baby must be down there, and threatened, i thought. I couldn't get to them. I went and knocked on one door, no one answered, then another, and my neighbour came out in his bathrobe, it was 9:30pm. I said I needed to go into his garden. As I went out, we saw the cat trotting towards us. I thought the cat must have been threatening the baby. I went to the end of the garden, one crow flew toward me, then left and I couldn't reach the place anyway. I thought it was over. I thanked my neighbour and came back home, but the crows were back.

I felt horrible. The next day, I went into the park. One of the Unbraves, Divo, and one of the Driveways came out for food and I felt awful again. I hadn't been able to help them. I've hardly been to the park of late. Yet they seemed to bear no ill will.

This overwhelming love for the unearned tolerance.

In the garden, I saw the pretty robin on the front page and Mottled Breast. Who looks less mottled in this light.

The Blackbird Child is still around.

There's also a dunnock child, and maybe, just maybe, a young robin in the honeysuckle.