Nests

Such busyness. Such relentless directed effort in building a nest. Hundreds of trips for material, the right mix of size and texture, laid down in the right order, in just the right way. Not one, but multiple nests in a season. Not one bird but dozens, scattered through the trees on this small place. Not just this place, but every place, all through the valley; every valley in these ranges. Everywhere, up and down the country, this small nation and every other. If not for the wind and rain that brings them down—wholesale or bit by bit—the earth might collapse under the weight of all the nests.