The sentinel

The enormous, ancient clematis that covers the fence for most of its length, is home to dozens of sparrows, plus blackbirds and a couple of robins. You open the back door, ever so gently, and it’s a hedge talking to itself. When Mrs Oons [Goddess of the Fatballs] puts the food out, everyone is on the ground simultaneously. Except there’s always one on guard, eyes on the skies in case of a big nasty flying over. They take it in turns, mind.