The wren sang to me on my 11th birthday. He was a gift outside my window, one that pulled me towards him like a magnet. I wanted nothing more than to get lost in his song, so sweet and calming, as he winged towards me. I reached out and he alighted on my finger, his tiny talons wrapping around and biting in so deep he drew blood. He bit in and in, and then I consumed him whole. My soul expanded and he was branded on my back, wings spread. I am sweeter for him now and more prone to singing.