Part 2: Charlie

Charlie was the latest of his late-season

clutch to hatch, his older siblings by now

having come full-fledged adults who looked

exactly like all other mature sparrows.

Well, hold on. That's not completely true.

Let me recast: His brothers looked like

adult males, his sisters adult females.

There were obvious gender differences.

Charlie himself, however, was just

shy of mature. His markings weren't

as bold as those of older male sparrows.

Except for when he begged for beak-to-beak

feeding from any nearby grownup,

his entreating wings flaring downward,

outer feathers all atwitter, he kept both wings

nestled in their at-rest fluffy positions

against his sides. By doing so so habitually,

he kept them, unfortunately, short of prime

condition for flying.

When a warning, one made sufficiently plain

to engage Charlie's attention, was activated

by someone (or someones) of his extended family---

as the startled flock made good their own

off-the-deck whirring launch---he would by himself

hop as swiftly as his spindly legs could go,

sometimes breaking into an actual twinkle-toed

scurry, until he got to a mostly safe hiding place

amongst motley grasses or under the low branches

of a close-by ground-squatting dwarf evergreen.

After more than a reasonably lengthy spell,

he'd sneak a peek; then, if he deemed the coast

sufficiently clear, Charlie would venture a hopping,

zigzagging scenic route back to the deck proper,

there to recommence his desultory lonesome picking

at sunflower and other birdseed leftovers.

He'd make his way apprehensively. It was as if he were

checking---or rechecking---water temperature

with his big toe before plunging in.

Big toe, of course, being somewhat of a metaphor,

since nothing about Charlie was big.

(to be continued in Part 3)