There is a little bird watching me from the window. A small brown wren, blending perfectly with the surrounding leaves as he flits from branch to branch. He cocks his head to one side and another, and proceeds his journey up the tree. But he returns down every so often. Three branches up, one branch down. He stares at me at eye level, and I wonder if he is trying to think of a way to get in or a way to get me out.