Bird or Bugger

One afternoon as I was leaving work I caught the sweet, tweet sounds of a finch. Above my car, perched high on a power line, it looked a lot like the bird my brother brought home from the pet store dozens of years ago. It was grey all over with a bright orange beak and bits of red and yellow on its wing edges. Definitely a finch. And they do make the sweetest song. As I was about to open my car door, he cocked his head my direction and let go a melody that made me sure he was a happy, happy bird. The tableau was a spectacular example of nature's creation: the bluest azure sky speckled with cotton-ball clouds in the background, and this tiny, majestically-colored creature in the foreground. It was the simplest thing, but held me transfixed for several moments in a state of wonder. Then the rotten bugger pooped on my car. What a rude snap back to reality.