I can tell

A little shore bird is the first thing I see every morning when I swing wide my door. He's never startled.  Just bravely stands his ground. 

His migration route was likely a very interesting story if he could speak.  He lived briefly at a thrift shop amongst the pressed glass and pottery. Such a sweet little fellow.  

He was banded and a tiny tag around his ankle had a single word. Kenya. Clever, nimble fingers far away gave him life. 

And away he flew to Canada.  

I can tell he's happy.  He's settled right in and has made his home between the hosta and the astilbe.