My little bird. Today is the day. Your egg was very different than the others I had seen. But you were mine, and I treasured you. You hatched with different feathers in places where others had none, and you were bare in places where others had many, but you were beautiful. And every feather the other hatchlings had so quickly after emerging, you eventually grew as well, and continue to grow. Other birds sing all day, but your song is short and always sweet. Oh how I love to hear you chirp. Other fledglings pitch and soar above our perch. We watch and we wait, wondering if we will see your wings outstretched. You keep your wings folded. We wonder if they stretch. If they move. We treasure every little hop and bounce you make while growing your wings. You just need time. We want to see you scatter and sail with the others, but make no mistake, we love the safety and warmth our nest provides …because you are in it.
Lately, something has happened. The change of seasons seems to have brought something with it. You began to chirp louder, jump and bounce higher, and peer over the nest to the ground below. You looked back at us expectantly and with curiosity…as if you wanted to fly.
So I looked and looked and looked for a safe place for you to fly and fall and fly again. Most of the flocks wouldn’t let you join their flight. “We’ve never flown with his kind!” they said. “He flies different than us, it might be more work for us!” they said. So I drew you back into the nest… I was hurt, scared, and afraid. But you didn’t stop hopping over to the edge and looking over the expanse. You would cautiously twitch your newly fledged wings, perched at the edge, waiting for me to give you a push. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t. I couldn’t. And then I could.
I spent the night before gathering and storing your worms, twigs, and bits of twine. Anything I thought you might need in your journey. I fussed and fidgeted over you. Grooming and assuring every feather was in place. You were patient, but it was obvious, I was holding you back. You needed room to grow. More and more, you stirred the air around us with your wings, stretching and strutting and showing us you were ready. So that morning, it was time. The sun rose and filtered light out as far as the eye could see. You and I rose to our feet and peeked our heads up and over the nest. What a world we both saw in front of us. At once terrifying and beautiful. Full of danger but also promise. We both filled our lungs and stepped gingerly to the edge. I reminded you that to fall is to be expected. I reminded myself of the same thing. You looked to the ground below and the open sky above, and a twinkle grew in your eye. You scanned around and shook out your tiny feathers. You opened your wings and closed your eyes. I held my breath. Once, twice, three times you flapped your wings…and out you stepped. Out of the safety of our nest and into open world. You dropped so close to the ground I thought all was lost, but at the last second, you spread your wings and rose up into the sky. As I squinted into the sun, you flew circles above the treeline, not so much with the others, but around them, near them, in your own pattern. You soared above me. Stretching your wings to the limit, for the very first time. Finally having found the room, the space to do so. I felt my heart squeeze as I realized the feathers under your wings, the wings you spread today for the first time, were made of colors I had never knew existed. I never would have noticed, had I not let you try, had you not convinced me to let you try. Today, my sweet son, you left our nest. I’ll swoop in when you fall but oh how I love to watch you fly. Please don’t fly too far or too fast.
