If I sleep with my shell under my pillow,

If I sleep with my shell under my pillow, I will dream about going to the beach and be so lucky to find a Rollodex watch that still works, and find a car buried under the sand. And it’s a red Corvette. When I wake

leaves, gravevine bark and horsehair on the vanity, between a ceramic duck and a bottle of mouthwash.

It was natural for Bob Lyon to turn the bathroom over to the wren and use the facilities at the other end of the house. I understood his decision.

Our host was reluctant to show me the nest today. He did not want the wren disturbed in any way. Using my past experiences with Carolina wrens, I tried to convince him that one visit, to check on the number of eggs, would not disturb the wrens. Carolina wrens are noted for going about the business of incubating eggs and raising young without regard to human activity.

Lee Trott and I were allowed one quick look at the wren nest. It contained five beautiful speckled eggs.

I learned of the wren nest in the Lyon bathroom last evening while the four of us were sitting around a big fire, relating stories of birds and bird watchers.

As is usual with me, I got up very early this chill morning in mid-April, secured a mug of coffee and went outside to prowl in the woods surrounding the house. When I stepped out the door, the first thing I heard was the loud, emphatic, ringing song of a Carolina wren. Scene-er-y, scene-er-y, the little bird called from near the end of the house containing his nest.

I don’t know what scenery the bird was referring to, but the sight of Virginis bluebells, toothwort, yellow violets and two species of trillium — white and magenta — was splendid scenery for me. I was in a paradise of spring wild flowers.

Those wrens and I understand each other. We know what a good and loving man is this Bob Lyon.