There’s a family of catbird’s right outside my bedroom window. The bush leans up against the pane, so I have an eyelevel view of the nest. I saw the moment one of the parents returned to it this spring, inspecting its intactness, how it had weathered over the winter. I watched as Mama bolstered its security and sturdiness with new twigs. And then it got in, ready to lay eggs. (I had seen the moment the nestlings fledged last year.)
Mama and Papa catbird are diligent parents. I see them foraging throughout the day while I’m in the yard, flying back and forth with small worms. When I’m in my room, I keep a discreet distance from the window, wanting to give the family its privacy, not wanting to scare them away, but I doubt if I even could, at least not permanently. The parents are so dedicated.
Mama flies to the bush just now while I’m watching. She lands in the low branches, then hops her way up to the nest. I think she saw me through the glass for she perched on the nest looking at me before feeding the tiny beaks that barely crested into view. And then she stuffed worm bits into several beaks and sat on her brood. It’s a cool morning.
Ah, what maternal bliss, watching what nature does instinctually. Alas, it is not so for us humans.