Rest in Peace, Dear Little Ones...and Your Mother

Earlier this month, I committed murder. At least it felt like murder. After weeks of tenderly watching two wrens build their version of the Taj Mahal in a wreath on my front door, I opened the door at the wrong time. The worst possible time. Mama Wren was sitting on the nest and refused to give flight as she normally did. I swung the door back and forth so that she would fly away and I could sit on my front porch. This had been the norm. This time Mama Wren chose a different flight. She flew into the house, panicked as I tried to "shoo" her out and hit her head on the ceiling, falling with a flutter of wings with a light thud onto the Oriental rug. I panicked, picked her up and placed her quickly on the nest, her limp body resting lightly on her six small eggs. Perhaps she's just stunned, I thought. But I knew inside that her lolling neck was a bad sign. Mama Wren had broken her neck, her small babies encased in eggs were doomed and Daddy Wren would be mad as hell.

I cried. Not just a tear or two but great sobs of sorrow for what could  have been and how I had played an inexplicable role in this tragedy. After recounting the story to my father, he reminded me that life goes on and that nature has its' cycles. I still cried.

Was it the babies, I cried for? Or was it for the weeks of patiently watching the parental duo in flight, trip after trip, grass, twine and tiny twigs in their beaks, building this home for their new family? It had been a miracle to watch and brought me great joy. They had grown to trust me as I had my morning coffee and watched their progress. Now I could only look at the wreath with sorrow.

Rose Kennedy once said, "birds sing after a storm; why shouldn't people feel as free to delight in whatever remains to them?" Yes, birds do sing after a storm. They are wonderful to watch and hear and a delight to see as they continue the cycle of life.

I said a tiny prayer for all involved in this mishap. I hope that Daddy Wren will sing after a storm, and that I, too, will delight in all that remains for me.