Thursday, June 3, 2010

Birdie Blues

Almost every spring, a robin attempts to play house atop the pillar of our front porch. Some robins begin the nest process only to leave under cover of night, their nests half built, a gaping hole with grass and twigs blowing in the warm breeze. It must be the activity of the house that makes them so unsure. I wonder about the birds that build under noisy train tunnels or choose sun scorched street light posts in busy downtown cross sections. They seem to stick it out, or tuck it under, or whatever they do in that nest?

I watched a tentative expectant birdie begin the building. She would fly to our porch with beaks full of grassy brick and mortar. Last week she added some tissues we had left on our side porch. Sean wanted the nest down last week. He's freaked out by birds in general and the poop is unsanitary and gross. I asked him to leave it alone, hoping eggs had been laid. I wanted the kids to see the nest and eventually babies learning to fly for the first time.

A few days ago while Mama Bird was away, I grabbed a step stool and my camera. I hovered the camera above the nest and captured some gorgeous pics of three perfect, bluest of robin egg blue creations. Nature is an amazing study.

I remember several years ago I miscarried our first pregnancy. I was five months along and we had named the baby and received Christmas gifts from family while visiting in Pennsylvania. We lost the baby that New Years Day. That spring, I watched a bird build her nest. Sean knocked it down with a broom and disposed of it in the woods. I watched that bird come back to her roost and take in the horror of no hope, no home, no babies. I knew how she felt; raw, drained, ripped empty, confused. I sat in the hallway and cried for almost two hours.

I showed Sean the photos of the eggs and it triggered that memory. You never forget, you sometimes talk to your spouse about it, even after seven years, and two beautiful children later. Most days I feel slightly like those eggs, soon ready to hatch. I am resilient: yet feel a scuff, a peck, a small crack kept under control.

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