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This is Rhea.
Welcome to Little Stories for Tiny People.
I'm recording this story on the edge of spring.
I'm looking out my studio right now.
It's just beautiful out.
Oh, that's strange.
There's this bird, this big bird that is, well, it's glaring at me.
It's more than a glare, really.
It's like it wants to eat me.
Oh, it's so creepy.
It's not looking away.
I feel like I can't look away.
Okay, this is so silly.
I'm in my studio.
It's not like that bird could come in my window.
That's not realistic.
Okay, you know what?
Let's just get to the story.
The sooner I'm done, the sooner I can leave.
It's called The Bird and the House.
Take it away, Bowie.
Remember, there are no pictures.
You have to imagine the pictures in your mind.
You can imagine them however you want.
Okay, here we go.
On a cool day in early spring, three people one tall, two small walked out the back end of a house.
They'd done it before.
After all, they lived in the house and it only made sense that sometimes they'd walk out the back of it.
But what seemed different that day, different than the other times they'd walked out the back door, was their clear sense of purpose.
They were on a mission.
Their footsteps were careful, controlled.
They were the kind of footsteps that usually led them out the front end of the house.
Backyard footsteps were not careful.
They were fast and wild and paired with laughter.
They were stomps through the yard, splashes through mud, leaps onto the tire swing suspended from an old oak.
But that day, in early spring, those people used front yard footsteps out the back.
And it was those slower, measured, out of the ordinary footsteps that caught Finch's attention.
Finch was perched in a red maple tree in the yard.
She landed on that branch on that red maple tree for a little while each day.
From her perch, Finch had a nice view of the house.
She could see well into the room at the back of the house with its couches and the one big colorful pillow that seemed to travel the room always in a different spot when Finch glanced over.
There was a cat inside the room behind glass.
She knew it was glass because one day she'd watched in horror as a bird mindlessly singing to itself as it flew.
Smacked right into it.
There were a few terrible moments.
When the bird lay motionless on the ground, Finch held her breath.
She could hear the cat meowing inside the house.
The small people appeared, pointing their little fingers at the fallen bird, their eyes wide.
Then, as if it were pricked by an invisible pin, the bird popped up from the ground.
I'm okay.
It wobbled a bit. fluffed its feathers, and flew away.
After that, after having learned that the people had invisible walls designed to smack into birds, Finch kept a closer eye on them to see what other questionable things they might do.
That is why Finch glanced over at them that day in spring.
That is why she cocked her head as they walked with front door footsteps out the back.
And that is why she wondered, what are they doing?
The people made their way into the yard, plodding along, carrying some things Finch had never seen before.
The tall person carried a step ladder.
One of the short people carried a metal box.
The other small person, again with those determined footsteps, carried what looked like a tiny wooden human house.
How very curious.
Finch watched as they came closer and closer and... Why are they getting so close?
Usually, Finch would take this opportunity to fly away because she had no interest in being so close to humans.
But in all her time spent in this yard, she'd never seen the people do this.
Her curiosity won out over her urge to flee.
She stayed on the branch to see what happened next.
They reached the red maple.
Finch was higher up, so she could look down and observe them.
The people muttered to each other for a minute or two.
Do you think that branch will work?
Then, the tall person set up the ladder near the tree trunk.
The small person holding the tiny house held it up and the tall person took it and climbed the ladder, blocking Finch's view.
She hopped around on the branch, trying to get a look.
As the person fiddled around with the little house.
It was no use until the person stepped down the ladder.
And there it was, the tiny house hanging from the tree branch.
It swayed a little and then came to a stop.
The people stood back and smiled like it was the beginning of something.
How long do you think it'll take? one of the little ones asked.
Not sure.
We'll just have to wait and see.
They all turned around and the small people broke into backyard footsteps, running around wildly until finally anyone want some ants in a log.
Yay!
They disappeared into the house.
There was something so charming about their interactions.
Finch tried to imagine what it would be like to have a family, a home.
That snack sounds delicious, Finch thought.
But she also thought, why would they put a little tiny house in a tree?
Hmm.
Finch thought and thought about this.
She spent the entire day wondering about it.
Tiny house, tree branch.
Tiny house?
Tree branch?
For some reason, Finch felt she did know something about this.
She'd heard of this exact phenomenon of tiny houses in trees.
It was on the tip of her beak, right there.
But it would not come to her.
Finch canceled her four o'clock appointment at the nearby birdbath.
She could always bathe another time.
This mystery of the little house was more important.
She sat there, watching the house, waiting for whoever might arrive to claim it.
At some point, as she was muttering to herself, Who can climb in that tiny door?
Her head got heavy, her eyes closed, and she sank into her feathers. for a long rest.
She woke with a start the next morning.
She heard some calls from birds she knew around the neighborhood.
She heard some trucks in the distance.
She felt the senses slowly return to her sleep-addled brain.
And then, with a jolt, she sat up straight, eyes as wide as they could be.
It came to her.
She knew, without a doubt, who that little house was for.
She looked down at it, swinging lightly in the morning breeze.
How could she be so silly?
It could not have been more obvious.
It's interesting how a full night of rest can bring forth crystal clear answers that were so frustratingly out of reach the day before.
Finch fluffed herself and set up with a new sense of authority.
And as if that sense of confidence radiated from her, filling the air around her with an irresistibly attractive quality, a chickadee landed just next to her at that very moment.
Hi!
Oh, hello, Finch said, sitting up straight.
Basking in her secret knowledge about the little house.
She figured they'd chat a bit circling around in conversation until landing lightly on the topic of the small human structure on the branch below.
The chickadee apparently had other ideas.
Look at that little house down there.
I wonder if it's a house for...
Time seemed to slow down as Finch processed what the chickadee was about to say.
She couldn't let all that important thinking she'd just done go to waste.
She had to be the one to share the secret knowledge about the little house.
Gnomes, Finch blurted.
There was a moment of silence, and Finch realized she had said gnomes rather loudly.
She also realized the chickadee had said bugs and not gnomes.
There had really been no reason for Finch to interrupt her in such an abrupt way.
She felt the heat of embarrassment blossom beneath her feathers and creep upwards around her beak.
Gnomes, the chickadee said at last, cocking its head to the side.
I thought maybe it was for bugs.
It's a house for gnomes, Finch said.
Hmm, okay.
Gnomes.
Gnomes.
Gnomes.
Hey, what are gnomes?
Finch felt the slightest bit of satisfaction okay, maybe a little more than the slightest bit at being able to share her small amount of expertise on gnomes.
Gnomes are tiny little human people.
They walk on two feet, wingless, featherless.
To understand how Finch knew so much about gnomes and why she was so convinced the tiny house was put up just for them.
We must go back in time.
Back to when she met the Grackle.
And thank you, as always, for listening in.
