There was chaos followed by grace

The cardinals were acting like complete wackjobs from early to mid-August. It took a quiet peep peep peeping to finally understand why. They'd had an oopsie and there were tiny babies in a precariously perched nest. This second round of babes were literally living on the edge—of the bridal veil bush, of the warmer times, and worst of all, of me and my camera. Every morning I'd sit on the deck watching mom and pop feeding them while I chanted: "Stay the hell away from the nest. Stay the hell away from the nest."

A couple days before Irene was due, the cardinal pair was even noisier than usual. I looked out the window and saw that pop was pretty focused on something on the ground. I peered down—ah hell.

I flew to my laptop and googled, "help baby cardinal on ground can't fly what do I do there may be cats." Thankfully, I wasn't the first to put together this string of nonsense. I followed the directions, put the little guy back into its tilted home, and tried to straighten the damn nest without unravelling it from the branches.

I watched with horror as the nest kept tilting further and further each time mom or pop landed. At the end of the day, I was exhausted from my vigilance. I went to bed knowing I'd done as much as I could.

I headed out to the deck at the butt-crack of dawn the next day. It was quiet. I looked over at the bridal veil unable to see the nest. I told myself it was still too dark. Mom and pop weren't even feeding yet. I watched that spot off and on until RM headed to work.

"Hey, I can't see the nest."

"Really? Are you sure?"

"Yes, it's not there any more."

"Oh shit! I was hoping it was my eyes."

Together we wandered over to the bush looking into the emptiness that used to hold a family of three growing cardinalettes. Ever the observant one, RM pointed to the ground. "Looks like the remnants of the nest right there." Right there looked just like the dead grass everywhere else in the backyard.

Mom, pop, and I each mourned the loss. I try to live in the day, too often unsuccessfully by letting the past creep in. The future? I don't give it much thought. For some reason I don't understand, I had the future of these three babies all mapped out. I visualized myself watching them grow big enough to leave the nest, take their first uncertain flight, and flit around the backyard between bushes, branches, and finally fly high up into the treetops to sing their first notes.

For a couple of days, mom and pop buzzed by on occasion. They looked shell-shocked, uncertain, and completely confused.

I tried to console myself with the knowledge that they wouldn't have survived Irene. I wish I could say it worked.

In times of stress, I did what comes naturally. I went to the coast. It's the only place I can refocus and be reminded how infinitely small I am in the grand scheme of things.

At the coast, there is abundance and life writ large. That day I saw a bird I'd never seen before: a gorgeous Grayson Gull. I watched it dive and swoop and ride the updrafts until it cruised to shore.

a still sentinel
kept watch over the sea swells
and calmed my turmoil