An American Goldfinch has appeared in my front yard. He arrives each morning an...

An American Goldfinch has appeared in my front yard. He arrives each morning and hangs around until early afternoon. He sits in the branches of my serviceberry tree and looks through the window at me. At first, I greeted him as Mr. Finch, but now things have become less formal and I call him Atticus.
His gaze is direct, dark-eyed. I'm certain that he wants to tell me something; so every morning, I put on my slippers and go and stand on the front porch.
I look at the bird.
He looks bac...