Saving Small Lives

Here is a little nest from our orchard, hidden in the leaves of a plum tree. It looks like a bunch of sticks randomly shoved together. A mess of matter. It's so much more than that. It's a home. I heard the sound of birds within, tiny fledglings straining their blind heads to rise, beaks open to receive food. One photo was all I took, until the parent finches came back to dive bomb me, the photographer, 1000 times larger. The bombing mission was as intense and courageous as any fighter pilot in combat, despite the David-and-Goliath size difference. I heard their wingbeats in my ears as they tried to make me scramble.Never has a woman in the history of the world loved being attacked as much as I did in that moment. It was glory. I backed out, banging my head on the branches. But happy, laughing, smiling, beaming because life is fierce and precious. The fight to preserve even the smallest of feathered things is extraordinary, and to be celebrated. We each have to fight for life and honor the one we have, even though it's not perfect. Life is struggle. Still, we must keep participating in that struggle. How do I keep on forgetting that? It wasn't a gentle reminder. Two finches, the size of ping-pong balls and just as light, were disguised as the best helicopter parents in the world. There ends the lesson that family love made for me in feathers. Any kind works; every kind of love is a miracle.