He stands at the gate with a shepherds crook
He whistles sweetly yet shrilly
Onlookers can hear them before they are seen
The sounds of excited calls from an enthusiastic flock can be heard
At first it comes randomly from across the paddocks and hillsides.
He whistles again and he smiles as they respond back in unison
They appear at first like water spilling from all corners of the paddock in streams and dribs and drabs from all the hidden places
White and pure and fast
The Flock run to him smiling with enthusiasm
They froclick with joy
The noise becomes a cacophony as they join together moving as one
They no longer require separation from each other
They are silly and unrestrained as they run to him
Even the elders of the flock cannot contain themselves, neither do they try to.
They do not require insistence to come when he calls
They race willingly to his side
They had known to remain hidden during the day awaiting his call
And come they did, at the very first whistle
The second was only for fun
They knew his call
To his side they ran
Circling him, they leapt around him calling loudly in greeting and uncontainable excitement
He honoured them with his care of them
They honoured him with their wool and their warmth
United they were strength against the cold and against the predators that lurk
Little Wren 