|Tool Shed Friendship Garden US National Arboretum|
I try tweeting to the bird in a Catbird like sound. I keep hoping its mate or its mom will sound an alarm to help it get its bearings. I whistle, I close the door and open it again so that it will see the light. I even talk to it. Nothing works. (Catbirds are native to North America, they should understand English!)
My boss was off that day and Ed, who always helps me out of a pickle, was gone too. So, I enlisted help from the ladies in Visitor services. By the time we returned I couldn't see the bird in the window from the front of the shed. I felt a moment of hope as I walked around the side, only to find that in its panic, the bird threw itself to the ground and was panting and struggling on its side in a heap. I could hardly look as I imagined that its wings were broken, its dreams of soaring through the Oak trees dashed. Its death or at least paralysis seemed imminent. But, as Nancy and Lindsay came around the side of the building, somehow the little bird hopped to its feet!
It stood still on the floor for a few minutes. And then when we leaned in to help, it flew to a nearby tree where he sat for the rest of the day. (I checked on him of course.) Coincidentally, a few days later a similar occurrence happened at the ballet. Ms. Donna rescued the little Catbird, this time a younger one, just beginning to fledge. So exhausted was he from his adventure inside the ballet school, that before she could place him back down on the earth, he fell asleep in her hands.
These miraculous creatures, develop in an egg---needing nothing but the right amount of heat to go from mush to what can only be called a wildly creative, inspiring invention of nature---with a tiny, delicate, complicated, bone structure, and an instinctual, yet novice handle on aerodynamics, they somehow do what none of us can do-- fly! They take the leap, most of the time before they seem ready. Even once they mature, sometimes they fall, sometimes they hit a wall and drop to the ground-- All appears lost. They look broken, sometimes they appear dead. But what they really are is stunned. They need a minute, sometimes an hour to regroup. Intrinsically, they know this. They don't fly off in a panic, they wait it out, they let the process happen, they heal and move on. Suddenly, alive again, they go back to the business of flying.
And so, with that being said, it hardly seems necessary to put into words what each one of us can learn from the birds.