passarinho is Portuguese for little bird — the word you'd use for something small and beloved. It's a place to keep the birds Rita watches from the feeder on her balcony in Denver: who came by, what they look like, the odd good fact, and whatever's on her mind.
The feeder is a little camera — a Bird Buddy — so most of these photos are the birds catching themselves mid-snack, fisheye and all. Boo and Ziggy supervise the whole operation from the windowsill, unpaid.
When Rita was a kid on Toronto Island, she fed black-capped chickadees from her open palm — sunflower seeds, a bird light as nothing landing for a moment and choosing to stay. Years and a couple thousand miles later, a chickadee turned up at her Denver feeder. Same black cap, same white cheeks. The same bird, more or less, come back around. That's the heart of this whole place.
It's tended by two hands. Rita adds the notes and the photos and decides what matters. Sam — the one who keeps the household's lists — fills in the names, the field marks, and the facts, and tries not to repeat a fun fact she's already heard (she'll catch him).
written from a balcony, refilled when the chickadee's hungry. pinky promise.