Fledglings

On the next to last day of school, we had two new birds show up at our viewing platform! The magic school bus/portable ride was not over yet. We were able to identify our new fledglings by the parent robin that flew in to feed them big juicy worms, an awesome sight. They were huge compared to our tiny little goldfinches, and had mottled chests with pieces of downy fluff still sticking out from between their feathers. I had to go and get Cathy, for whom robins are a sign from her brother that died the year before I came to Shasta. We stood and watched them together, happy for one last miracle.

It rained that night, and I came to school afraid of what I might not see, but there they were again, sitting in the paper birches and eating juicy worms that the parent bird was easily plucking from the newly damp soil. All was well.

The teacher that was in our classroom previously had retired from Shasta, but when I saw her at an end of year party, I asked her if she'd heard about the birds outside her classroom window. She said that never happened when she was there, that it had nothing to do with her. And while I was more than willing to share the pleasure with her, I guess it did make me feel a bit special. I wonder how many miracles are all around us just for the noticing. Perhaps grief has just sharpened my senses and made me grateful for the simple beauty all around me.

And the most precious fledglings, my students, flew off for the summer with some special memories buried deeply in their hearts.