The water in the birdbath had all but evaporated in the blazing August sun. I turned on the faucet and filled the concrete basin once the waters drawn up from the aquifer ran cool.
They must have been waiting at the edge of the woods, waiting for me to fulfill their need because they came, one by one. Drawn by the sound of the spray. A chickadee, then another, a nuthatch, a towhee, a raven.
Soon birds were everywhere, unruffled by my presence. They perched on me, the bushes, the bench. Waiting for their turn to splash, bathe, and drink.