Redwing

Ten years ago a cold winter spell brought a redwing to the garden of the big house I used to live in because fallen apples had clustered underneath the fruit trees the previous autumn. The next day, the bird came back with a collection of pals to share the feast. I had never seen one before and was blown away by the jewel-studded breasts of the birds and the flash of red under their wings.
They almost looked as though they had been embroidered on to the garden.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw what resembled giant sparrows in the graveyard yesterday; one of them hopped up on to a weather-worn gravestone from the grey winter grass, and sure enough, it belonged to another small flock of redwings that had probably floated in on the cold February winds from Scandinavia.
What a beautiful sight, and echoing such a similar personal situation; maybe they are magical messages of hope. Or maybe they are just pretty birds.