I'm pretty sure birds are unsentimental about their nests once the chicks have flown (as I'm fervently hoping was the case for this nest). Humans are a bit more complicated: proud of the courageous and independent flying they observe, and yet a little melancholy all the same. It's small compensation to know we're now free to indulge in various 60-something eccentricities: strolling down the hallway stark naked after a shower, cooking new recipes that bubble ominously on the stove and later sliding inedible experiments unceremoniously from plate to compost bucket, having long heart-to-heart conversations with the cat about appropriate timing between treats and what effort ought to be made to earn those treats, mildly cursing the iPad when a Scrabble opponent plays an obscure word, having a tad too lengthy a couples conversation about various bodily emissions, reading for hours while eating popcorn, gelato or cheese, watching movies inappropriate for our age, attempting to learn one-footed Yoga positions from a DVD and teetering over, and other activities left to the reader's imagination.
The fledglings' imaginations will fill in the blanks deliciously; or more likely we will rarely cross their minds. If all else fails we'll serve as horrible examples. Is the image of an empty nest sad? It represents those happy fledglings taking flight to go build their own nests. Mother birds have no choice but to rejoice, and breathe in the freedom. Care for another Cheezit?
