Morning of Mourning

This morning was a morning of mourning. The children were out playing even earlier than usual, but it wasn't long before they were running to the door screaming for me to "come look, come look!" It was an excited scream, so I finished drying my soapy hands, then joined them on the veranda.

"Baby birds, baby birds!" Yes, yes it was--a nest with two tiny baby birds. Saturday's rains and winds had knocked down a matooke tree, which apparently had been the chosen spot for one poor bird's nest. Joseph had cut off the matooke (think plantains), only to find Mama bird's intricately woven nest and her little ones huddled inside.

So far, this is a beautiful story. But then the tragedy struck. Before I could say anything, Joseph and Tai were touching their wings. NO! You can't touch them! Mama bird will now abandon her babies. My curious son had no idea he had just sentenced these fascinating creatures to death.

At first, the sadness didn't come. I even was able to run and grab my camera. At first, I thought it was even precious to watch Tai's wide eyes (and gentle hands) observe these new lives.

But it didn't take long for before my heart sunk (it really did!) as I thought about their fragile lives. Even as I continued to snap photos, I my own ignorant fascination faded. They will never get to attempt that miraculous feat called flying. They will never get to use those beautifully formed wings.

At this point I put a stop to it all. And I turned the sad moment into one of education. Both my children... and Joseph... now know why it is important to leave baby birds alone. Why, if at all possible, a nest should be preserved and left in its place.

I'm not sure why this little uncommon beginning to my day left me pondering the way it did... but it did.

He sees each sparrow's fall.