A Soft Wobble

A tiny shiver started in my toes. Soft, then firm. I bobbed my head—once, twice. It moved! Right in front of my feet, a pale crumb of dried moss clung to the grooved roof tile. I leaned forward, curious and steady, tapping it gently with the tip of my beak. It rolled into the ridge. I can move, I can look around, and this sturdy ledge is right under my feet.