It looks that I am not destined to sleep late, as I hear taping at the patio door. The noise wakes me up I must get up, unwillingly, rub my eyes and unroll the shade. I see tiny beaks tapping at the glass partition of the patio. Yes, I am late in waking up, but it is Sunday.
The birds, little brown sparrows are impatient, waiting for their breakfast, their daily routine. This daily work escaped my mind. How selfish of me, I reflect. With my eyes half-closed, sleep lurking in them, I go to the kitchen pantry, pour out crushed wheat and a mixture of grains. Opening the patio door, I sprinkle the grains on the floor.
The birds rush towards the pieces, bow their heads and begin picking the grains in their beaks and start eating. From the dining table, I pick up a bread and throw out the crumbs. More sparrows come flying.
I delight at this spectacle Happy birds, their beaks shining as sun rays fall on them, taking their breakfast, nothing to disturb them.
. I see a movement on a tree near the patio. A big fat squirrel jumps down from a tree and comes in the middle of the scattered grains. The birds are frightened. They fly and gather at a distance, looking desirously at their food now in possession of the squirrel. The squirrel, occupying the place, is ready for the big meal. It turns and looks at the gathering of the helpless birds, pauses for a moment and slowly jumps back to the tree without picking any crumb.
Compassion knows no boundary.