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This writing was accepted for publication in the
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“the Blind Eye”
cc&d (v265) (the September/October 2016 issue, v265)



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 the Blind Eye

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New Bird

Charles Hayes

    The dusty blue shard of an egg shell, its membrane caught by the sunny trumpet of a daffodil, gently sways in the spring air. Magnified especially for me it seems, an announcement that a new life is somewhere up above. Looking up, my face dappled by the morning sun, through maple leaves with dew aglitter, I see a fledgling Robin chirping down at me. No worm nor juicy bug to feed, I move away to cause no tease nor fear.
    From away though still quite near, I watch the mother home from tree to tree, to quiet her charge’s chirps, with a frenzied service from her beak. Then off again she goes, for waiting all about, are more meals to bring home.

    Returning day by day to where the daffodils once were, not long in time I come to see, the honor that the mother allows for me. Crowding steady on her little peep, until it falls from all it ever had, she lets go of tender care. Righting from the pull of earth, its virgin wings beating so, a new bird lifts upon the wind, and in the maple mate across the way, a perch it finds. Tree to tree and ground to tree, the mother shows her young, until its task is learned beyond just rote, but to the main to always be.

    Come the end of spring, the new bird fit to be, I climb and lift its cradle from the maple limb. Spinning seeds like confetti fly, to celebrate the story that this gift will tell. The miracle of birth it will signify, as it sits upon my window sill. This Robin’s empty nest.



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