I stood in the doorway early this morning and snapped this picture. He was so close. In hindsight I wonder if he was thinking...
it's time.
As I took several steps forward to let Oliver out for his 'morning routine', I was nearly struck in the head by a flapping, flailing, screeching, ruckus! I was so startled and taken aback by the chaos which immediately ensued that it took me a few seconds to realize that the little bird had flipped out of the nest and was cartwheeling across the patio. Oliver thought he would be a delightful toy and set out to catch him. Meanwhile, I, in my pajamas, leapt about trying to simultaneously corral the curious poodle, and avoid the baby's swooping, screaming, hysterical parents.
They ushered their little one across the yard. He didn't fly, but he tried. An ungraceful duck-like lurch and lunge and then he was gone into the bushes. The parents cried for a bit and then...
quiet.
Papa robin began pecking for breakfast. Mom resumed her perch on the tree branch. And their baby went off to fend for himself.
I had envisioned two teen robins standing at the edge of their nest. Testing their wings. Flapping and feeling the air lift from below. Gaining the courage and confidence to fly off into the sky.
But it's never quite how we think it's going to be. It's not usually when we think it's going to happen.
And most often, it's rather unexpected.
I can't help this time of year to see my morning adventure as a metaphor. Graduations, families, illness, life.
Never quite how we envision it.
