Empty Nest

She fluttered
out of a woven
moss covered
basket
above the door
at dawn the
nest had fallen
onto granite
stone.

Oh
my drowning senses
couldn’t
contain such grief

every cell

drilled
deeper

I gasped

this
cavernous
hole
had no
bottom

I continued
to fall

Nature had
Spoken

my silent
plea went
unanswered

Ki’s* message
was clear

I replaced
the nest
added a
cedar shingle
enticing
the phoebes

to return

listened
to a vibrating
body
whose mourning
bell
rang clear

Nature
had Spoken

my beloved
birds
were gone.

*Robin Wall Kimmerer uses the word ‘ki’ to remind us that all of nature is kin. I, too, have adopted this word to describe my experience of every non-human being as a relative, perhaps much wiser than I could imagine…

As a hybrid writer – a storyteller and a nature/science writer – I can easily get caught up in the particulars of the latter, such as researching and defining characteristics, which separates me from the experience I am having with a relative like my phoebes, who lost their home.

As it turns out, these two phoebes have refused to leave and have built another nest on the opposite side of the cabin – hopefully, this one will provide a safer haven to raise their young. A huge, fat gray squirrel who was munching down crabapple blossoms and staring at me with what felt like malevolence (yes animals have full access to all their feelings both positive and negative), the morning the nest fell was probably responsible because I had removed “his” bird feeder to make sure that the phoebes could nest in peace.

My phoebes were so late migrating home this spring that I feared something had happened to them. When they finally arrived, I felt such relief because a vacant phoebe ledge creates a hole in me. I kept a keen eye tuned to nest building, an intricate process, and was so excited when Mama spent her first night in the nest. When their home was suddenly destroyed, I feared the couple might go elsewhere… but within a few days, they were building a new home.

There are many theories about bird migration, but no one seems to pay attention to the obvious – Birds and Place are intimately connected, just like people used to be (and some still are).  Migrating birds will return to the same spot year after year to raise their young because they are attached by invisible heart-threads to their birthplaces.

Perhaps if we saw birds as animate and highly intelligent beings with access to all their senses – and not as reproductively programmed/DNA ‘its’ we would understand why they need to return home to breed. I am not saying that theories of migration don’t involve the use of celestial navigation, etc. Most scientific theories have merit and are part of the migration story. But the need to find or return home is so basic, and yet it’s ignored completely as a primary reason for migration.

To digress just a bit, I reflect upon the need that so many people have in this culture to uncover their roots through DNA testing or to identify with a particular gender or ethnic group. Aren’t these attempts to find home? Westerners as a group are on the move constantly and so separated from place that many are suspended in thin air. No roots anywhere.

Some of them seek political, religious, or mythological stories to help us find “home” in a culture that despises many, so aren’t we doing the same thing? I know that I am seeking balance with the stories of Indigenous peoples because these tales make the most sense to me (not because of Indigenous affiliation, since I was brought up as a Westerner). Except for my love for animals/trees/nature, and my oasis in the woods, I too would be homeless.

I am happy to report that my phoebes have successfully raised another brood, and every dawning, I am privileged to watch the young ones taking their first flights!

It may seem ridiculous to some that I am so attached to phoebes, but for me, having them raise their children here each spring is part of my experiencing place as home.