The meaning of life

Not a wren. Today.In a world where we struggle with the big questions, I have at last discovered the meaning of life. For wrens.

As a colour blind and self avowed bad birdwatcher, wrens have always held a special interest for me. As a tiny, tree coloured bird that lives in trees around lots of other trees, they have their own particular difficulties for me to spot. They may be one of the most populous birds in the country, but to me they may as well be invisible, seen but not heard.

After extensive research on this topic I have discovered the meaning of life for the wren. It exists and finds its fulfillment in the following step by step.

1. Wait for me to arriving hopefully, clutching my binoculars.
2. Make a noise, or better still fly tantalisingly close enough for me to know that a wren is about.
3. Stay completely still as I bring my binoculars up, release I’ve got them in the wrong spot, lower them, check, realise I had them in the right place all along but the bird is so damn small and tree coloured that I didn’t spot it in the binoculars first time, bring the binoculars up again and settle them on the fuzzy dot.
4. Make little movements while I frantically try to track the wren and focus at the same time.
5. Stop, just as I get it perfectly in focus.
6. Wait a nanosecond and fly away.

Once is a pain. Twice is frustrating. 6 times in half an hour is vindication for my theory. The meaning of life for wrens is to wind me up. As proof of this problem I present my latest photo of a wren not there, taken this morning. It makes me grateful for blue tits.


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