the cuckoo shrike
This fellow comes by twice a day, depending on the sun’s position in the large glass pane that protects the home from summer’s north-easters.
He flies up to the glass about thirty or forty times, twice a day, flutters up and knocks it softly with his beak. Then he retires back to a branch of the Durobby that grows close by.
Sometimes he manages to fly over the top of the glass and into the atrium itself, this is where we sit watching him. And of course the bafflement continues. Now he’s fluttering up to the inside of the glass and tapping it with his beak. Same problem.
It doesn’t matter which side of the glass he’s on, the problem remains the same.
There’s only himself on the other side.