Not for the beautyberries

A young bird died in my hands this morning.

As I read the paper, I heard the insistent chirp of a mockingbird.  Normally, I hear them when the beautyberries are ripe, and the birds are snacking.  Too early for berries, so I looked out and saw the severely injured bird.  I saw it's eyes move. It was still alive, but I knew there was no saving this one.

I wrapped the bird and stroked it's head.  I don't even know if that comforts birds, but it comforted me.   Its beak slowly opened and shut.  I think it was trying to call to the continually chirping parent.  I think that's a rule of mockingbirds, when  you get into trouble, you sit still and chirp back at your parent.  A blessing:  the bird died quickly.  The parent continued to chirp for a short while, but eventually continued with its day.

As parents, we chirp at children as they leave our nest:  watch for that, don't do that, take care of yourself, we love you, but our children healthily insist on trying those new wings.   Most successfully make the flight.

The cat gets some of them.