This morning, arriving at work, a Sparrow perched in the kitchen, it flew in, impatient for the daily feeding of bread. I gently shooed it out, thinking perhaps it might be confused, but it knew it's way and left when it was ready.
Superstition has it that birds flying indoors are an omen of death to come, I've got a month left, it's not my home, these are not my people, this is not my tribe...