spynotes ::
  May 16, 2006
Elegy

I�ve been watching the robin�s nest in the plum tree for several weeks now, ever since we first noticed the eggs. The mother robin spent nearly all her time there, and we marveled at her patience, at her ability to sit still, moving every now and then to check on her eggs.

Yesterday evening, I heard a noise that made me look up as I walked past the tree and I saw a tiny mouth opened to the sky. The eggs were hatching! AJ had already gone to bed, and I vowed to show him in the morning.

But it was raining again this morning, and I forgot to look until the weather cleared this afternoon. I noticed the straw on the ground first, a pile of straw and mud under the tree that I kicked with the toe of my clog as I went to weed the garden. I looked up and found a hole in the bottom of the nest that I could see through. All signs of birds were gone. I looked round the base of the tree for evidence � blue splinters of broken shells, or worse. I found none. I watched for a while, but the mother robin did not return. I went back to my gardening. It wasn�t until I went to put my tools away that I saw it, a tiny twisted pile of bone and beak and almost-feathers, bloodied almost beyond recognition, all that remained of a brutal attack.

I had to explain to AJ what happened. �Where did the baby birds go?� he asked. �I think they died. Something attacked the nest.� �Why?� That�s the harder question, because I�m feeling unspeakably sad about the whole thing. But really, the question isn�t that hard. �Some animals like to eat baby birds.� AJ thought for a minute. �Like maybe a cat.� �Maybe.� I think about the coyote I saw slink across the road a few days ago and wonder if coyotes can climb trees. I don't want to believe it was something as benign as a cat.

Instead of watching the birds, we went down to the river, threw rocks in the water, attempted unsuccessfully to fish with AJ�s birthday fishing pole and a huge purple plastic worm, played on the playground. Some friends arrived and soon a pack of eight preschoolers were roaming around the park together in the late afternoon sun.

I stood with the other mothers watching them, making sure they didn�t go too close to the water. �They�re all getting so big,� someone said. We all agreed. Next year, half of them will be in kindergarten, moving one step away from home and out into the world. I�m glad they�ll have each other for companionship. I am struggling with the desire to turn AJ loose and also to hold him tight. It�s a fragile moment.

Before we went home, AJ and I raced around the playing fields, he on his bike, me on my roller blades. At one point he got stuck, his training wheels balanced over a dip in the pavement so that his rear wheel was suspended in the air. He pedaled wildly and went nowhere, which amused him. I skated up and gave him a push and he continued forward. He isn�t flying solo yet, but he will be soon.

[Second entry today. Click back for the fifth circle of hell.]

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