The birds were all on the ground along the entrance. Just sitting. He saw no reason. There were no seeds over there, no trees - and it hadn't rained in at least a week for there favorite worms, though those often lived in the dirt closer to the garden on the other side of the church.
He hadn't been here in a long time, having spent some years in solitude in a remote area of France, and some other years in Rome.
Now, his home parish seemed to be more for feathered parishioners than neighbors.
"You have to stand still, Father," said the young sister who was meeting him before tomorrow's mass.
"Why?"
"Well, they're staring at you, aren't they?" She smiled at the birds, whose eyes looked kinder and more familiar by the second.
He nodded.
"There've been seventeen priests since you went to Europe. And seventeen birds now."
She was right, he thought. The one closest to the door tilted its head in much the same way as his brother James, who took on the parish when he left, and passed just last year.
Noticing a tear beginning in his eye, she began to step forward. "You just needed to stand still for a moment. They always greet the new priest. It began after Father Paul died and Father John took over."
He nodded again, and, smiling at James, followed the sister inside.
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