This is the field across the street from our house. Lovely, isn’t it?
A new nest rests
in the pine tree now.
The Mourning Dove
and her eggs are gone.
Too early for the eggs to have hatched,
we wonder what happened –
a snake? the hawks? or
some other unsavory villain?
Her nest was flat and
open,
gently curved like a palm,
an open hand
she sat upon.
What’s left looks flimsy now,
oddly broken twigs
scattered
like a child’s game
of pick-up sticks.
The new one – a Robin’s nest –
stands nearly
five inches high, built
like a fortress, with thick,
heavy walls.
It lies on the
North side of the tree
and slightly more hidden
than the Dove’s was on the south.
In the farm field across the road,
a strip of grass grows
greener by the day.
Stretched like a runner
beneath a line of trees
that march single-file toward
the distant mountains,
empty fields spread on either side.
We’re waiting to see what will
be planted, what will
come of it all.
We build and plant and
hope for the best,
learning as we go:
Build your nest
on the North side,
high and
strong.
Plant when the danger
of frost has passed.
Follow the greening road
home – always.
Sounds like sound advice.
This is beautiful in its descriptiveness, Kelly. We have many nests in the trees around us, but few that are low enough for me to pay special attention to as you have. I love how you notice the differences in position and build of the two nests, and how you apply that to the constructing that we do every day in our own lives. I so appreciate a fellow nature contemplative 🙂