” Some of us think holding on makes us strong; but sometimes it is letting go. “
~ Herman Hesse
The nest appeared in the yard after one of winter’s first snowfalls. I hadn’t noticed it, until a warm day followed by a frigid night had turned all snowy surfaces hard and slick. Heading back after a morning walk, the nest unexpectedly caught my attention, seemingly afloat in the middle of the snow covered yard.
How did I not see it on the way out? Had it been there all along, or just arrived? Looking up into the tree canopy surrounding the yard, I wondered where it had been built and what tiny birds it had sheltered.
The center, that womblike place where the bird’s eggs were held and hatched, fledglings nourished and protected, looked so small compared to what surrounded it: a circular woven tapestry of twigs, lichen, shreds of tree bark and blue plastic from a disintegrating tarp.
Considering the nest had most likely toppled from significant height, maybe been tossed about by gusts of winter wind, it was still in good repair. A bit disheveled, but structurally sound and beautifully constructed.
But abandoned. Which is what most birds do.
When a nest has served its purpose, birds move on. Off to other things, maybe a warmer climate, or safer location. But no looking back at the time, skill, resourcefulness and perseverance required for nest building. No attachment.
I thought about moving the nest back into the woods, finding an inviting cradle of tree trunk and limb to rest it upon. It seemed neglectful, wasteful, indeed almost disrespectful to not honor the creative efforts of birds who delicately care and nurture their offspring.
But this is a human dilemma, certainly not avian. Birds do not ponder such things. There is no reason to. With singular purpose, and without attachment, they simply build another nest when the time comes for nest building.