Then let me tell you a story. The other day it was snowing and I looked out my window to see my next door neighbor struggling along in heavy galoshes to put birdseed in the feeder. Now, I like birds, but what tends to happen is that the feeder attracts flocks of sparrows who then drive the other birds away. My next door neighbor, I should add, doesn't actually live in the house. He lives some miles away. So he'd driven in, braving rather slippery and icy conditions, to replenish the bird feeder. In summer those sparrows flock to the bushes and sometimes, walking unwarily to the car, I've disturbed several hundred of them - and they've exploded out of the branches, mobbing me, a la Hitchcock. So you can imagine my mindset when I saw my neighbor's semi-heroic struggle to the bird feeder. I recalled that last fall a bird eruption had happen just as I nosed into my driveway, relaxed and with open windows, and sparrows had actually flown into the car, bouncing madly around until I could open enough doors to get them out. Then, just as I was shaking my head at this memory I wondered what my two granddaughters (2 and 4) would have done had they been there. From her childseat Zoe would have watched the fluttering crowd with delight and interest; Ellie would have waved her arms about, hoping to get a bird to settle in her hands, no doubt laughing all the time. So why had I gone to my negative attitude so readily? Today I looked out of my window and saw, beside the sparrows ranged in the hedge, a pair of russet red house finches, poised and absolutely at home, washed in the yellowish light of a new day. Thank you, neighbor.