Little Jenny Wren

Even though Abigail seemed to be having a riotous party last night it was sunny here first thing. Jazz and I took advantage of it and went for our walk fairly early. 

The goldfinches were in the same position, high up in the hazel hedge. Robin redbreast was on station in the oak tree and Jenny wren busying herself in the brushwood, chirring away.

John Clare wondered why certain birds were revered and others ignored. He was a champion of the birds,

"Whose song hath crowds of happy memories brought.
Such the wood-robin singing in the dell
And little wren that many a time hath sought

Shelter from showers in huts where I did dwell"