You'd have thought you were eavesdropping on my mother's bridge club. No one was dealing. No one was the dummy. There were no tallies. Dessert and coffee hadn't been served.
It was the sound and the energy. Little brown birds were hopping about in the underbrush close enough to watch, but too far away to photograph. No doubt they were wrens what with their upturned tails and the white band over their eye. Plus, they shared an infectious joy. They chatted and sang and buzzed. If one had produced a photo album of grandkids, it would have been completely believable.
There were plenty of wrens for one table of bridge. If they got a sub, there would have been two tables.
© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder