Robin whom we call Plum built a very messy grass and mud nest over the back mill door and, I thought, well protected, where she placed three beautiful blue eggs with much happiness and pride. She sang every morning and night, and made us feel that all was well in the world.
It seems she was being watched by two very large black crows who flew in every day to check on these precious hatchlings. One morning while returning to her next she saw them taking her babies away in their beaks. It was terrible--the cries and screams. Plum's heart was breaking, we all gathered to help but it was hopeless.
How could Plum ever sing us awake in the morning again or find peace or joy? I brought her a fat worm and a kernel of corn and laid them by the door, I hope she found them. I ambled back to the creek distraught with sad and empty feelings . . . all of us feel the delicate, fragileness of life. I was glad when night came.
The next morning I was surprised to be awakened by her clear voice once again singing to the first light of day. In all of her loss she said she had hope, she would lay another egg, that life is good. She said we have to rejoice every day, be thankful for the warm sun, the soft rains, the smell of flowers, fresh fat worms. Life is precious even if it is a small tiny one. This time she laid four eggs in the same nest. But she never again sang by the nest--she would keep it secret. They grew, and just last week they flew away to a new place. She promised us that before winter comes she will return and sing us a song.
So . . . remember eggs are precious, and you may be surprised who comes out of one!
Until next time . . .