A MOTHER’S NEST

Mother Robin tucks her nest with ornamental
grasses in disarray atop the trellis
nailed against the east facing garage wall.
Mother Phoebe creates a tightly woven nest 
perched atop an outdoor light in the northwest corner
where house meets deck. Each following her instinct 
to offer warmth and safety for new-born life.

Mothering is unpredictable. Last year I found
a blue robin’s egg on the ground below the trellis.
Grief and uncertainty enveloped this mother.
One year, all the chicks could be heard chattering
and Mother Robin flew out screeching as I walked nearby.
Soon she encouraged their flight and the discovery
of a world beyond the nest and strict vigilance.

Human mothering is bound in years, not weeks. 
A lifetime of connection—or for some, neglect—with no certainty
when the first breath is cried out and the babe is swaddled
then brought to whatever life waits for this infant’s care. 
A cord connected throughout time ties them in the uncertainty 
of a love mind cannot hold, only the heart. Bound through lifetimes 
as dreams rise with each new birth—a life unexplored. 

(Photo my own)