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June 23, 2006
Empty Nests
I couldn't write anything yesterday because of heartbreak. My darling spousal unit was trying to be helpful and spruce up the new plantings around here. In his haste, he forgot that I was harboring a clutch of eggs in the impatiens basket. As (rotten) luck would have it, the handful of fertilizer granules he tossed in landed smack in "my" nest, nearly covering those three precious eggs.
Mama chickadee did not return. I waited one whole day and night. Too long for the eggs to survive, but I couldn't let go of hope. Today, we had a funeral.
Mama chickadee is much more realistic than me -- according to a website about chickadees, if something happens to a clutch, they build another nest and lay more eggs. C'est la vie.
I will admit to having a much too tender heart. But this process is painfully familiar to me. Like Mama Chickadee, I take twigs and bits of stuff and fluff and weave it all together into a nest. My nest holds, not eggs, but ideas, words, images. I want each nestful, each story, to come to fruition, to find wings, to fly. But that isn't always the case. In fact, it is rarely the case. For every nest that bears fruit, there are many, many others that tumble to the ground and rot.
I weep when something bad happens to my nest. Mama black-capped chickadee just picks up and starts over. Maybe there's something to be said for being a bird-brain.
Posted by kirby at June 23, 2006 07:45 PM
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