the little bird

The little bird has returned to the nest. She is so frail and tired. I can see her tiny heart and it appears as though it will burst through her chest. Some days she flies so high and I am so proud. Flitting about from flower to tree, testing her wings on the air currents. On those days, in my soul, I think my heart will burst through my chest. She fills me with such pride and I say to myself, "There's my little bird. All of those worms and bugs I brought to her have made her strong. The flying lessons we did together have made her strong. She flies with the best of them."

Sometimes the best of them are not at their best; they tease her and pick at her so she falls. Her wings falter and she comes crashing down into the nest for comfort and solace. She looks so fragile despite her adult body lying there with little tears welling up in her eyes. I do what I can, say what I believe, hoping it will revitalize her so she will fly again. Slowly she collects herself. I brush off her wings and we both get ready for her to go again. A part of me hopes that I won't have to do it again but my mind knows that we will repeat this ritual again and again. Some birds can leave and never return others stay close and a community is sprouted from the original egg, a community of birds that stick together, a network of birds that never leave one behind alone.

My little bird needs to be close and I love her. I love her for her strength and her weakness equally. It is her weakness that keeps her going, her desire to fly above the Mocking Birds and the Vultures. Where they are ugly she is beautiful, a tiny, delicate Humming bird in a world of boring Sparrows and vicious Blue Jays. She continues to fly her own path, tuning out the roar of the others. When the roar is too loud she stumbles. Wobbling she will return to the nest to fluff her feathers and receive encouragement.

Some nests are abandon after the first year but this nest is continually reworked and made larger for all the fledglings.