As I walked along the road by Grand River, geese rooted for some perceived treasure in a field to the right.
They honked as they worked the field in a leisurely fashion. But a little sparrow made me stop and listen. She demanded attention.
The tiny sparrow was high in the spruce tree as she looked down over the river.
The bird sang her heart out, fluffed up in spite of the pleasant sunny day, the volume of her song much larger than her size.
Below the road, large birds dominated the riverscape which included the surface of Grand River and its thin layer of ice. The gulls made that seaside gull sound, haunting in a way but welcome and familiar.
The quacks of black ducks could be heard in the lull of the seagulls, a gentler sound but distinctive just the same.
In the background, geese were in conversation, their geese-speak in the distance sounding strangely like a human crowd.
Through it all, the most impressive was the tiny sparrow, head lifted in song,
proclaiming her truth to the heavens with exceptional beauty, oblivious to the bigger birds. They could not compete with her melodious offering. That one tiny sparrow was more powerful and effective than flocks and gaggles of the larger birds.
There may be a lesson here.