The Assent

ROBIN BLUE EGGS

 

I love to watch the robins nest in the old, almost forlorn maple tree in my back yard. Their red breasts delight me. Their 6 a.m. chirping doesn't bother me at all. My battered slippers lie beside my bed, waiting for at least two to say 'Good Morning, Old Hag.' The sun rises early in April and the mama robin flutters to the ground, claws at it just enough to pull up a wiggly earth worm for herself and her mate. They each get a good hold on it until the papa gulps down more than his fair share. He hops away while the worm still moving. He chirps proudly as if he beat Joe Louis into submission.

 

I stand stoically, ready to watch the beautiful blue eggs start to crack. The wonderfully strong field glasses my husband left for me when he went to heaven are on a leather belt around my neck. I raise them carefully, keep my hands as steady as possible so I can focus well and spot at once a tiny, tiny crack coming thru the shell. Perhaps I imagine it, perhaps not, but I do believe a baby chirp reaches my ears.

 

Yes, I am sure, one baby robin is about to wiggle out, see the light of morn. Where was the mama then? Was she flying to her mate to tell him the news or to get part of the  worm she had dug up for     
the chick? Ah, there she is. Her feathered grayish/ brown wings move so quickly towards her nest I do believe she heard the little peep while she sat on the very top small branch of my budding tree. I hum to her, 'Oh, little red robin, come to your babe, sing to her this morn. 'Listen, oh listen, another babe will be born.'

 

By the time I am ready for lunch, all four chicks are sticking their skinny heads above the nest. They open their bills and make whining sounds. Pop in bits of worms. Tiny bugs disappear and the babies twitter, tweet, paging their daddy, There, there in the oak tree he sits, thin yellowish legs hold tight to a twig that is about to fall. As it does, the robin spreads its wings and flies directly over to my maple tree. This is the first time the family meets. The little heads, starry eyes seem to be looking me over. I let them. Why shouldn't I? Am I not part of their family. They are all I have left since my little boy, Robbie, grew up, went to war and never came back. A sadness crawls  over my pleasure that surely is because a big, black crow has come from nowhere and is circling the babe filled nest. I clap my hands, call out to shoo it away but it doesn't go. My back is breaking, my arms feel heavy. The damn crow swoops low, aiming at me. Its wings move more slowly as the bird circles, lands a few feet away from me. 

 

My eyes stare as the black bird's  feathers change to an amazing shade of blue. The pain in my chest gets worse until I feel the bird lifting me onto its back. Soft winds touch my face. I look down and see the robins blue eggs have all cracked open. Their mom  and daddy hold on to the edge of the nest and watch me soar to meet my husband and son in heaven.

 

They are waiting at the gate for me, each holding a nest of blue robin eggs.