The Tumble The sparrows squabbled in the top of the tall blue-green fir tree in my backyard. As I sat on the deck early one evening last July, I could not see them, but they carried on with their bird-argument among the needles and cones of the fir tree. They had a nest up there, I knew, and I imagined the parents feeding the little sparrows bugs as the nestlings jostled and squawked in their nest. Noisy little things. My black cat, Taz, strolled around the corner of the house. Something caught his eye in the mown grass under the pine tree. He trotted over,…
