I wanted to write about the munias I saw last Friday, on my way back from work. My heart was heavy with the news from Nice, exhausted by the seemingly unceasing flow of pain and agony.
There is a nice stretch of wild plants (I refuse to call them ‘weeds’) where I walk to the bus stop. Some of these wild plants are seed-heavy at the moment.
When I was walking along this stretch last Friday, there was a flock (family group?) of tiny birds chirping and foraging on these seeds. At first, I thought they were sparrows. Then one emerged on the footpath and it was more slender than a sparrow. It had a thicker beak, almost like a finch’s *. Munias. There was at least five munias. They scattered when I approached. For a moment, I just watched them and admired their beauty.
They were too quick for my phone camera. But my heart was full with the images of them foraging, feeding and just being.
There is always hope, somewhere.