Wednesday, May 20, 2009

Color: Robin's Egg Blue

This weekend, taking a break from gardening, I took Satchmo and Mia out on a walk to do their business. On the side of the road was the broken shell of a Robin's egg. It was dry, probably cleaned out by a crow or something. I picked it up to bring home. It just amazes me that an egg can be such a pretty color. But the dogs got in a tangle and I got the egg shell caught between my palm and a leash and it smashed to smithereens. All I had left was some small fragments stuck to the sweat in my hand. Robin's Egg Blue seems a fragile color to me.

For this I was reminded of some older things I wrote when Andy was a Jr. or Sr. in High School, not long after we moved out on our own. (I think I may have posted on of these a loooong time ago but I am too lazy to go back and look) (and thanks Nikki and Amy for the encouragement. It means a lot)

Bird is Hurt

Bird is hurt. Devastated.
I want to mend him
But I am shut out.
Mother bird instincts kick in
Regurgitating my own sustenance
To force into his screaming beak
You will fly again
But come into the nest
Where we can practice singing
And flying
Baby hops,
One baby bird hop at a time
Mending you is mending me
My Bird, it hurts. I know.

Nest Leaving

You push but pull me back to close
Afraid of fully flight to free
Desiring approval yet fighting advice
As seeds I plant to turning ears

Defiantly resisting what you sense as stricture
I want to let go but only so much
As on your legs you yearn to run
And in your wheels you leave my clutch

One of us will leave before the other
I hope it is me as I the mother
Could not endure a life without
My bird who flies away now

Yet otherwise if it were me
Who lost my bird
It would save my one the pain of loss
Which I would never want for you
As I could no longer fight to protect
My baby bird from felines and weather
And pain from loss

In Awe of Mother Bird
How did you push your little one out of the nest? I realize it was a necessity, for survival, for your baby. But if feels like it’s a necessity for MY survival to keep him here with me. He was my reason for setting out each morning to find and bring home nourishment to help him grow. Each day as I returned he proudly showed me what progress he had made while I was off in the world providing for us. His downy soft features slowly leave as sleek and, unbelievably, more beautiful he becomes each day. His warm fuzzy coat is replacing itself with sharp and prickly pin feathers as he evolves into the form that will assure his survival outside our nest. I am proud and frightened at once. I want to spare him the harsh realities of survival. He is the only one that survived my egg laying season. He is my hope. My pain. My love. Mother bird, how do we give our children wings and survive? I hear your beautiful song. I want my song to be beautiful too. Clearly sounds of pain and pride, of laughter. Of love. That is our song.

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