Nestling

Just outside of our bedroom window, there is a small hole into the roof of our house. Each spring it has been home to baby birds. We listen to them chirp like crazy when their mother comes in to feed them. 

This morning, when we let the dogs out, there was a little nestling crying a fearful chirp on our patio. The thought of leaving her there to fend off neighborhood cats, or even the reality of abandonment in the heat of the day crushed me. I gently picked her up in a cloth napkin, her fuzzy almost feathers rustling in the early morning breeze and her sunshine yellow beak yawned open hoping for momma's food.

Funny where love can happen.

Eric dragged a stool to the spot where she must have fallen from her nest, and stood, reaching to coax her back into the roof with her siblings. We feared touching her directly and used a wooden spoon to nudge her toward the opening. For many tries, she did not move, the trauma keeping her still.

My mind spun, thinking of what we would do if she could not make it in.
But then,
her tiny foot grasped a wire and she pulled herself in. I lay back in bed holding my breath as I looked out the window, hoping we hadn't disrupted anything beyond repair. A few minutes later, momma alit on a wire outside the nest, a worm in her mouth and in she went.

I breathed again.