Sparrows are my insurance against the impending apocalypse or the human extinction level event. Everything will die, without any readers all words will cease to exist, all that’s left is Roy Battie’s tears lost in the rain and sparrows with their industriously carefree hop. I’m pretty ok with that. Grendel’s dragon told him “Find your gold and sit on it.” That’s perhaps the selfish route. Better to hold on tight to nearly nothing at all.