not notice if you come from behind, if you can call it that little hump that is the creamy top of the back of the blue tit. A bird of the index finger, excluding the tail, head-rod for round-bodied, fluffy neck that spreads to the right and left soft gestures of hunger. The thin legs, arms blacks in miniature, riding a white bread crumb in a thousand on the sill and the head blue, with black mascara on the yellow line of the muzzle, where lies the profile of the eyes, tiny ticks and decided to sink beak.
is winter.
Below, trails of tiny footprints in the snow gymkhanas fan, waiting for the cat neighbors. In this cold ungrateful, swollen in the tri-color fur, content with the remains of the remains, not suitable for its tonnage slinguettando crumbs, a little more warm and nourishing of the snow. From the trees around the spy tits and robins, in your turn you do not spy through the window, and it's all a silent ballet.
The blue tit, unaware, continues to delight. If you could would you even more softly, afraid that the mere caress of the eyes can scare off the smallness of Resolute, the ball of vivid yellows and blues and blacks. Real Estate, noted his commitment and satisfaction, you see the pole in his rapid and frequent glances, still and lifeless pile. Then, at the climax, you see it grab a beak great crumb, whole, and fly from the edge that gives white.
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