Here we go again. Another robin’s nest has appeared in the backyard, this time in the Wolf’s Eye dogwood tree outside out bedroom window. It’s the same space that ended in likely tragedy last year, and I don’t know how much more the heart can take. Nature doesn’t give up as easily as I do, however, and maybe these eggs will hatch, and the youngsters survive to carry on a legacy.
The world keeps trying, and in that perseverance is a goal and a lesson. It is at these times that I force myself to quiet the nagging worry and doubt that is my starting point, and give in to hope and possibility, and the love that will sustain such a dangerous enterprise as raising a baby bird. We cannot protect those we love from everything, but if we work hard at a it, and we keep working at it, maybe we stand a chance – the same chance these pretty blue eggs have of one day crumbling into the earth, giving sustenance to some wayward worm, and returning into the mouth of a noble creature in flight – one that pecked through the sky-hued shell of its first home to enter the word and defy all the risks of a life lived on the breeze.
