Mama Bird watching from the patio post,
hopeful their wings and their wisdom would coincide
with the air.
They collided instead with the window I see through now,
fateful glass a barrier to their flight and freedom
impeding the discovery of their birdy selves as
creatures made for God’s pleasure and my joy.
My husband’s kind hand cradles the weaker of the two
as he attempts to restore the feathery treasure.
Gentle, he tips his palm slightly as the spindly claws
cling to this sure place.
At last a tentative hop! to the railing
and he rallies while we hold our breath.
I turn and look back—the bird has flown.
I marvel at the miracle of flight
and ponder the power of a gentle touch
and a sure hand
and the patience to push us
out of the nest to see if we can fly…