sitting at the kitchen table,
the wrens would still fly
back and forth,
caring for their offspring,
chattering in the bird bottle.
Unheard and unobserved,
these busy little birds would
carry on their domestic duties
whether I were here or not.
It would still be midmorning,
inching minute by minute
toward noon
on a fine summer day.
After that, there would be
a lull in activity--
fledglings sated, adult birds resting
--until the next feeding.
But soon the anxious time
will come when the young
must try their wings.
If I am not here,
who will bear witness to
their coming of age?
--Syndey Eddison
[Photo of fledgling House Wrens in Wallingford, Vermont]
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