Today, as I waited outside a coffee shop for a friend, a sparrow came within six inches of my foot. It never stopped moving: hopping, pecking, quivering, hopping again. Hop, peck, quiver, hop. I imagined its tiny, soft, round body perched in my palm, its head cocked so its bright eye could meet mine. It pecked coffee shop morsels for a minute, then flew off in a blur of brown and gray.