Bruno Liljefors, "Song Thrush at Nest" |
Nest
It wasn’t until we got the Christmas tree
into the house and up on the stand
that our daughter discovered a small bird’s nest
tucked among its needled branches.
Amazing, that the nest had made it
all the way from Nova Scotia on a truck
mashed together with hundreds of other trees
without being dislodged or crushed.
And now it made the tree feel wilder,
a balsam fir growing in our living room,
as though at any moment a bird might flutter
through the house and return to the nest.
And yet, because we’d brought the tree indoors,
we’d turned the nest into the first ornament.
So we wound the tree with strings of lights,
draped it with strands of red beads,
and added the other ornaments, then dropped
two small brass bells into the nest, like eggs
containing music, and hung a painted goldfinch
from the branch above, as if to keep them warm.
Jefferey Harrison
This story is a perfect reminder - underneath all our ways of dressing things up, repeating habits and traditions, carefully presenting ourselves, inventing plans for dealing with any situation we might face - life is wild. Sometimes beautifully so, and sometimes otherwise.
This story is a perfect reminder - underneath all our ways of dressing things up, repeating habits and traditions, carefully presenting ourselves, inventing plans for dealing with any situation we might face - life is wild. Sometimes beautifully so, and sometimes otherwise.
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