If it's personal is it a parable?

Well, if you find of interest the fact that I noticed a house on my way into town I had never seen before three large firs were cut down in front of it, then you've come to the right place.

Oh, there's another essay up and another on the way; I've written some poems; after a vicious cold snap, we've replaced pretty much everything associated with the well except the pump house; pretty much all the the Christmas packages have been shipped (wife did the heavy lifting, meaning the buying and wrapping); Christmas Eve, Christmas and New Year menus have been planned; photos; and there's another dog in the house, big, fat and blind. Looks a lot like me.

Well, it's white.

The wife has taken to fostering senior dogs in need of rescue.

Like me.

And the house has had to be rearranged to accommodate.

Like...

I was walking said dog the other day when something rather remarkable happened.

Every winter since we moved here I've noticed a flock of small birds that quickly flit between trees. They are so small and elusive they seem almost unnatural, yet in reality they are about the same size as a wren. They also make a noise, a high-pitched tweet not unlike the sound a Cedar Waxwing makes. Thing is, they move too fast and are generally too far away from me to see any markings.

The dog and I were out by the barn when I heard them. Accustomed to seeing them in the air, I didn't spot them right away and had to focus on where the noise was coming from. They were along the front of the red barn, the adjoining fence row, on up to the metal barn, about a dozen of them. And although they kept moving in short bursts of flight, they were close enough for me see markings. I was excited.

Then one flew up, did a little looping swirl and landed for a couple seconds right at my feet.

I was ecstatic.

The dog was oblivious.

Golden-crowned Kinglet