Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies?
Yet not one of them is forgotten by God. (Jesus, Luke 12:6)

Unnoticed except
by their Maker, my wife and me—
a dozen sparrows
blissful at their ablutions,
sandbathing on the riverbank.

They take it in turns
to fluff and flatten themselves
in the depressions
they have scooped among the weeds
in the coarse water-washed sands.

No, that pair lying
on their backs, legs in the air,
eyes shut, beaks agape,
are not dying but swooning
with pleasure on the sun-warmed soil.

Who’s the happiest,
I wonder, who’s the most blessed—
this flock of sparrows
rinsing themselves in the grit
or the three of us watching on?

Photo by Andrian Rubinskiy on Unsplash