A while ago, R gave me a perfect little nest that he found. Honestly, he gives the best prezzies in the world. If you’re looking for the best prezzie in the world just ask R.
Actually just ask me and I’ll explain it to R and tell you everything.
Anyway, he carefully put it underneath the mirror on the black wood of the old desk in my bedroom at West Cottage. When I came in all bleary eyed with my hung-over-jetlag-3am-haven’t-slept-for-36-hours Rip Van Winkle ghostly white face and saw the delicate green/gold moss and straw perfect loveliness of it, sitting small, alone and fragile on the desk, my heart melted and I had to hug R for a very long time. It’s exactly how I felt prior to my arrival in England that spring. Small, alone and fragile. Like the nest of my existence glowing with green/gold straw and moss loveliness between the ribs of my body, pulsing with every breath, had been shredded by the events of the past and I had no idea how to rebuild it.
The past several years, several years, have been so difficult with 9 anticipated family, extended family and friend’s deaths. Many have been in spring. Spring must be the most horrible time to die.
But this spring is different.
This spring there is a rosy house finch singing in the maple tree in the shade garden. He looks so lovely and delicate singing his heart out in the cold morning. He’s singing for his mate, for the fragile nest he will build and for his babies, who will be cradled in the soft sheep’s wool I’ve given him. He’s singing for the family he will nurture.
We’ve been on baby alert for the past two weeks.
K’s friend Alana gave birth to a son on the first day of spring. Nice day to be born…first day of spring. Her labour was long, the birth complicated and fraught with emergencies but everything’s fine and she and her husband will take their new son home in a day or two, and begin their life as a family of three, spinning and weaving their small, perfect little nest. Spring is the best time to be born.
K is expecting the birth of her second child at the end of May.
Right now, there is a strong sense in me of bird songs and symphonies and systems and life paths and the spinning of the earth on the correct axis and a soft, pink, heart nest being rebuilt between my ribs and everything being right with the world… right now.
This spring is a good spring.