I'm sitting on the couch re-reading The Untethered Soul when I look up into the bare branches of a tree, and there sits a bird, just sitting, resting. It's like I'm seeing a reflection of myself though she doesn't have a book, or Kindle actually, but then, I, too, have paused on my perch to sit and absorb. I think she might be a robin but I'm not sure. The shape is right. Smaller birds come and flutter around her stillness. Then, a robin comes, clearly a male, with his bright red-orange breast and hops around in the tree. She still sits, plumply content, until eventually she flies away. Spring. And soon a nest.