Two Mothers, and One More
Until she squawked, preened her feathers and skittered away,
I didn’t see her,
As I jogged around the perimeter of the field
On which my children played.
I continued running, occassionally turning my head
Making sure my little ones were safe
And “boo-boo” free.
During my second loop around the makeshift track,
I thought, “What a silly bird!” as she chased me away,
Making quite a racket, for a bird dragging a wing.
My children played on,
And I pretended not to see when they sipped my Camelbak.
It was a hot day.
On my third approach, the serious bird practically attacked me,
Activating my mother’s instinct!
“Ah! I bet she’s protecting a nest somewhere!”
I searched the scrawny Crepe Myrtles. Nothing.
I slowly walked over to the spot where she had been each loop.
And there it was!
A clutch of four, brown-speckled eggs
Laying in a shallow, dug-out nest!
I pulled out my iphone intending to photograph the beautiful sight.
Instead I videotaped the scene,
In order to capture the Mama’a irrate screetching!
As I slowly jogged away from her nest,
Hidden in the open field,
I called softly, “It’s okay! It’s okay! I won’t bug you anymore, Mama!”
Running toward my own children,
Safely encircled by a newly built fence around the playground,
I debated showing them the clutch of eggs,
Nurtured by a plain, brownish bird,
Sporting quite the tail feathers,
When it came to her kids!
Instead I grabbed my Camelbak,
And began praying the Rosary for the remaining loops.
I stood in solidarity with mother bird.
My feathered counterpart had no more sense
Than to dig a nest in an open field.
A field subject to the mower’s mouth,
Or my children’s game of tag.
I decided to “sit on the nest” with Mama,
And rerouted my path,
So as not to disturb her.
Through Five Decades, she never squawked.
Though I searched her out intently with every pass,
She never moved,
Trusting that this mother,
Whose own children played safely,
Meant no harm.
Instinctively mothers guard their young
We screech,
Make diversitions,
Enclose them in safe places.
Only one mother, Full of Grace,
Detached her love,
Abandoning her Son into the Father’s Hands.
Transfigured, the Queen Mother shows me how
To build my nest,
nurture my clutch,
and let them fly….
…..to the glory of God!
Hail Mary, protect Mama’s flock! Amen!
Stacy Peterson