Watching birds perched on the backyard fence were inspiration for a poem during spring. Elevation provided by my second floor bedroom window allowed a great view of two blue jays building a nest. I watched the construction and then the nesting after the egg appeared. Another poem emerged as I watched a common 'rite of passage'.
Bowl shaped bellies
Land on my fence
Nest in my trees
Fill my heart.
You trust your place on the tree.
One tiny, anchored in protective branches.
Dried leaves you've gathered hang over the nest like
excess blankets over a crib.
You sit on a circular chair made of sticks and dried leaves
tucked in a cradle of branches.
You look around as the wind blows.
Are you anxious for the safety of your eggs?
You cover securely like a lid on a jar.
I watch as the wind blows
branches sway back and forth, but you dwell secure
like you are glued to the nest.
Your body warms the eggs,
like a quilt warms little ones snuggled underneath.