HERE 'TIS, THE POSTING FIO WROTE FOR THURSDAY, AT LAST!
Slept late, awakened at seven-thirty by a tapping on the window above the balcony doors opposite the bed.
The black-crested titmouse, silhouetted against the morning light, was scurrying back and forth on the window sill, pausing to flutter madly, and pecking again and again.
Who are you, blithe spirit, and why do you want in my house? And if I DID open the door to you, who would turn out to be?