das Nest

"Quick! Quick!" That little girl, the one who is as sharp as a tack, barrelled into the kitchen. Her cheeks were red and tear-streaked and she was out of breath. "The baby birds! Quick!"

I rushed out behind her. She had been worried about the bird family all night because a thunderstorm had rolled through. At first light she was up (without an alarm!) and out of the house to check on them.

As we ran towards the tree, I could already see something in the grass ~ the nest. We both stood there with beating hearts looking down at the two nestlings. One was obviously still alive, but the other tiny creature did not look good at all.

[sniffle, sniffle]

"Now don't cry, Schätzje," I said. "Go find two or three strong twigs and meet me back here. Guard them until I get back. I'm going into the house to get some things, okay?"

"Okay," she said in a small voice and wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

Step ladder, Dixie cups, and paper towel roll in hand, I was back in a flash. In short order, the nest was settled into the branches of the pine tree. With the paper towels, we gently eased each birdlet into a Dixie cup and carefully deposited them both into the nest.

"There!"

"Will they be okay?" A little, little voice.

I gave her that look ~ the one that adults give children at moments like this. "Now you just hippedy-hoppedy off to school and I'll keep an eye out for the Mama and Papa birds." My palms were sweating. Adults don't know everything.

That afternoon, I watched her leap from the bus and come tearing down the street. I stood waiting and suddenly she was in my arms, face against my belly, wanting to ask but not able. I took her hand and we walked to the back of the house. On the patio, I had set up the step ladder. Helping her climb up, I steadied her and handed up the binoculars. She raised them to her eyes and looked into the tree. And smiled. As only a happy child can.