She felt the home she’d built wasn’t good enough so continued to tinker with it day after day until the nest became too elaborate under the weight of her blessings.

I’d watched her for a week and on the fifth day stood at the foot of the tree and cried after witnessing her babies fall down and die.

Looking up I saw that she’d flown away and I wondered whether she’d ever learn that the weight of regurgitation held more stability than the branches of comfort.

At times nature heals, lives and dies at our feet while at others it all happens upon our wings.