“Help!” says the little twig. “I thought it was supposed to be spring!”
What Western bird nests on the ground, lays a small clutch of pale blue eggs with rust-colored spots, and looks like a calm Quaker maiden in an unadorned gray dress?
How did this happen? I should be the boss of me, not some crazy bird!
The thought of my dad coming back as a stately, dignified owl warmed my heart in an unexpected way.