THE LITTLE WREN

It arrives just outside the sliding glass door; the armchair stands nearby, inside, allowing this little brown, speckled bundle to be observed without distraction or threat: there is something delightful about this tiny creature that makes one smile.

The petite Shetland wren bounces around and flutters as it chirps, seeming to celebrate the wonder of being to its complete satisfaction. Even before we used the sculptural cast iron, cast-off, turnip planter relic as a bird bath by standing this hour-glass-shaped mass of metal on its end, the little wren visited this area just outside the door, hopping over the old concrete pavement, through the grassy edges and the adjacent garden, and into the gaps between the stones in the dyke. The bird seemed to like this place.

Once the water was offered, the wren soon discovered the delights of floating and drinking. One could see the tentative excitement of the first attempts to indulge in bathing; it was not unlike the lady in swimming trunks testing the water before taking the plunge, squealing with a feigned perturbation about the impossibilities of such an immersion.

The minuscule beak would test the waters from the security of the edge and splash about warily before taking the furtive plunge just for an instant, returning quickly to the rim to repeat the procedure until some confidence had been gained. Once the situation had been established to be satisfactory, the wren then took to the water with some certitude, 'like a duck,' diving in with a new conviction, only to discover that its body was so light that it floated: its frantic flapping propelled it fitfully like a model boat with a jerky, rubber-band-driven propeller, back to the safety of the edge, to start all over again. After satiation, the bird would flutter off flashily to the old byre walls.

With time, the mint that was planted in old chimney pots near the dyke, grew into small, 600mm high shrubs. The tiny wren still visited, boldly picking specks of insects from the rocks and grasses, retreating into the mint from time to time. It seemed to enjoy the bushy clump of foliage as a larger bird might a tree - in Shetland, this is a unique experience.

This tiny ball of a bird would bounce from mint spike to mint spike, then flutter up, across into the wall and instantaneously disappear between the rocks, appearing on the other side of the dry stone dyke to visit the bird bath for a drink.

This time the wren flew off, fast and determined, heading for a clump of rocks nearby. Without a doubtful pause or any hesitation, the bird flew into a tiny triangular gap between the stones, and some five seconds later, flew out of another gap in the pile, and darted towards the old byre walls, its home. It could have gone direct from bath to byre, but the gap in the maze of rocks seemed to offer too attractive a possibility to miss.

What is clear is that this little fellow knows every detail in its environment 'like the back of its hand.' It bounces around with an easy confidence, happy with everything, contented; playfully engaging with the little wonders of known space and place, delighting in their complexities and intimacies.

We need to do likewise.

Consider the lilies how they grow: they toil not, they spin not; and yet I say unto you, that Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.

Luke 12:27-40 King James Version

- a text quoted by Frank Lloyd Wright in The Future of Architecture, Horizon Press, New York, 1953, explaining it as the words of an architect of ancient times, called carpenter, who gave up architecture to work upon its source.

For Wright's family history and chapel, see: https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2019/11/wrights-surprising-sideways-chapel.html.