The birds are resting on the limbs of a nude curly willow tree. They look around, move to another branch, then another tree. They return in a few minutes and I imagine them tweeting to each other, “Something’s missing. Where are the leaves?” ” That’s what it was wondering,”responds another. “How am I supposed to make a nest on a naked tree?”
I watch every morning as they return. It is as if they know they cannot nest there, but somehow they need to. Right there, in the same tree they have called home for three years.
Confusing, in the same way my life is. The things I know I should do, yet can’t complete, I keep trying to do. Defeat, try again. Defeat, try again. Repeat cycle.
It’s hope isn’t it? The birds, and I, know that spring comes, buds form, leaves grow, weather warms and conditions become right for our task. Hope springs eternal in the hearts of man and bird.