The Fledgling

It is a sunny, clear afternoon in early June. There is definite bird activity in the magnolia near our back patio. As I walk back from the woods, two robins in obvious distress chatter and flit from branch to branch above me. A few white patches of bird excrement on the patio prompt me to move out of range. Wonder what their problem is.

A few minutes later in the house, a small dark figure on the patio catches my attention. I look closer to see it is a fledgling bird lying motionless under the magnolia tree. Oh! - synapses slowly fire and connect the proverbial dots - that must have been what the birds were fussing about. Darn, I can feel the bird parents' anguish over the apparent loss of the fledgling lying on the bare pavement.

I tell Suzanne about the mini-drama of nature unfolding with the birds. We observe a few bird deaths from time to time - sometimes from confused fliers who crash into one particular window, apparently thinking it is open space. A few minutes later, I look out, and the patio is empty. The fledgling thought dead is alive and gone. I survey the bushes and yard; can't see it anywhere. Good news. The fledgling lives. The parents are still around but quiet now.

Half an hour later, the drama takes a different turn. We see a kitten walk by the patio door past where the fledgling was observed. Suzanne says "look at that cute little kitty." Then we look at each other and exclaim together: "the bird!" I rush outside and shoo away the kitten. We never saw the kitten or the little bird again.

Another little drama plays out in Bittersweet Woods, with a presumed happy ending.