I live in a small suburb of Belfast, Northern Ireland, near a busy road that thunders with traffic. On the other side of this road, Belfast Lough teems with passing ships.
The beach here is small and dirty; in a nearby copse of trees, discarded beer cans outnumber wildlife. And yet, recently, I spotted movement in one of the eaves of our roof.
Part of it has come away, revealing a tiny hole just small enough and cozy enough for a family of house sparrows to make their nest.
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