Last May, when l was helping my brother take trash to the dump before his move, I saved a gourd from being discarded, because it had an OM symbol painted on it. We hung it up in our dogwood tree at the lake house. It stayed there, empty, through the summer, fall, and winter.

This weekend, we arrived at the house just as a storm was ending. The heavy clouds which had been dumping rain on us during the drive were thinning. The dark sky was brightening.

I opened up the sliding glass doors to allow the gentle breeze and the smell of just-after-spring-rain into the house. I watched as a few starlings landed on the grass, and swallows darted back and forth across the yard, like bats.

As I sat down in the armchair near the door I heard a bird chirping. The song was crisp and clear. And so very very loud. I looked around trying to find the singer. I stood up near the screen, as the song grew stronger.

And then I saw her. A teeny tiny little wren. No bigger than an avocado pit. She was on the arm of the wooden rocking chair, singing her little heart out.

I watched as she flitted over to the deck railing, and hopped to the bird feeder. She perched by the pile of seeds, pecked a few times, and then flew straight up to the gourd. I saw that it was full of twigs. A proper birdhouse.

A few minutes later, she flew back down to the feeder. As she was making her way to the seeds, a male cardinal landed nearby on the railing. The tiny wren took a tiny hop back, and puffed up her tiny breast. Then she began belting out her song. Full fortissimo.

And to my surprise, the cardinal flew away. The tiny girl picked up a seed or two, and went back to her gourd.

A few minutes later, I watched as she landed on the feeder, and scared away a thieving chipmunk three times her size. Then she plucked up a seed or two, and flew to her gourd.

Very soon after that, she flew back down to the rocking chair. To sit. To sing.

I have much to learn from this tiny bird.