The Porch of His Presence

Mother Westwind and the Feeder Heist

It was a bright morning on the edge of the clearing, and Mother Westwind was brushing the dew from the meadow grass with her long, gentle fingers. The goldfinches flitted and fussed at the edge of the thistle patch, and all was calm—until a clatter sounded from the direction of the porch.

“Not again…” sighed Goldie the Finch, peering through the birch leaves. “He’s at it again.”

And there, sure as sunrise, was Artful Alfie — tail high, nose twitching, and eyes full of glee — as he sized up the latest invention designed to keep him out of the birdseed.

A spinning pole.
A sloped baffle.
A greased rail.
Alfie had seen it all.

Perched on a nearby stone, Chip the Chipmunk watched with wide eyes. He gave a low whistle and shook his head.

"Alfie," he said, "getting up there isn’t just difficult… it’s impossible!"

But Alfie only twitched his whiskers, grinned, and said, "Impossible, you say? We’ll see about that."

Up he went, nimble and quick, pausing only once to tip an imaginary cap to a blue jay who watched in stunned amazement. With a twist here and a leap there, Alfie was soon dangling upside-down, swaying like a circus performer, before flipping himself — thwap! — right onto the perch, just as the feeder stopped swinging.

“You’re not supposed to be able to do that!” chirped Goldie, fluttering in disbelief.

“Supposed to?” Alfie grinned, stuffing a seed into his cheek. “Rules are for the birds, dearie.”

From the porch, someone was watching with coffee in hand and a bemused smile.
"That squirrel again," they muttered. "We need to call him something..."

But of course, Mother Westwind already had.

She blew a soft breeze through the branches and whispered,
"Artful Alfie... always one step ahead."

And as Alfie munched happily on his well-earned prize, he thought of little Chip watching below — and with a twinkle in his eye, he gave the feeder a mischievous shake, sending a soft rain of seeds tumbling down to the ground.

Chip squeaked with delight and scurried to gather his share.

Because even the cleverest victories are sweeter when shared with a friend.