I don’t remember when I got this small (less than 2 inches beak to tail) hand-painted wooden bird, but I know I have had it since I was a little girl. We lived in an adobe house in Albuquerque, New Mexico. It had a big picture window in the living room and we usually put the tree in front of it. I remember my father, who was about 6’4″, would hang the bird at the tip of a high branch so I could imagine it was really flying through the wintry blue sky. Years later, my Mom sent it to me my first Christmas on my own. It was lovely to have a reminder of family and childhood. Over time, it has come to represent the kindness of my father and his recognition of the importance of imagination, and the wisdom of my mother knowing the comfort of the familiar in the midst of new beginnings.