rain on an empty nest

rain on an empty nest –

mother robin flits and calls

for her lost baby

A couple of days ago when I passed the robin's nest, the lone nestling was hunched down in the bottom, black eyes open, a few more feathers covering its gray skin, while the mother hopped about on the lawn looking for worms and insects. Today, dark clouds clot the sky and the wind is blowing the apple tree, tossing the nest about. The mother flits from branch to branch, clucking in distress. Holding my breath, I peek inside the nest. Empty. That baby is too young to fly. Maybe it fell out and is somewhere near? One time I found a baby bird teetering around on the ground, the parents hovering in a nearby tree, chirping. My birder friend said the parents will continue to feed the baby until it can fly. Like this mother robin, I start looking around for the missing baby, searching the grass under the tree. Nothing. Fat drops of rain begin to fall and I make a dash for cover. All day long I feel restless, remembering the empty nest. All that work, for what? But life goes on. In a few days the mother will feel an urge to gather mud and grass. She will build another neat little nest, lay more beautiful blue eggs, patiently warm them through the bare spot on her breast.