Inspired writing is a gift that comes freely, one thought springing from another prose becoming poetry pouring out love and truth from the heart. In the summer of 1998 when our daughter was nearly ten years old, the following piece slipped easily onto the page.
On Little Birds and Children
The news at seven am is hard to take. Drugs, abortion, wars, and some woman in politcs saying,”I can’t tell someone what to do with her own body.”
Air, sun, help! I open the door leading to our deck and glance into a hanging basket of New Guinea Impatience. There is a small nest in there. On tip-toe I see two white eggs. I smile, almost chuckle to myself. They would be my peace for the next two weeks of DC-10 crashes and more politicians saying, “I’m pro-choice,” staying safely in the middle.
They finally hatch, two rather bare grey babies. With Mom and Dad coming back and forth never abandoning the twins. Feeding, the two sound like a dozen. Soon they grow and gain their feathers as we all watch hoping to see them fly.
One morning I open the door to find an empty nest. My own child looks up at me and says,”Mommy, birds grow up sooner than children.”
She is ten and grew five inches in a week I think. When she flies off will some politician say,”Your mommy had the right to choose. She chose to let you be and one day fly as little birdies do.”