Youth is impulsive. When our young men grow angry at some real or imaginary wrong, and disfigure their faces with black paint, it denotes that their hearts are black, and that they are often cruel and relentless, and our old men and old women are unable to restrain them. Thus it has ever been. –Chief Seattle
A narrow stream divides the backyard of the house from the forest. The stream emerges from an underground source three houses up from the home where the children play. In the spring and after rain showers the stream flows broadly sweeping any debris in its path along the declining properties until it empties into a neighborhood culvert. In the summer the force of the stream declines, but regardless of long periods without rain the stream never dries up. At the top of the hill across the road there is a long stretch of barren fields where deer gather at dusk in the fall to feed on the apples from the trees of a forgotten orchard. There are no ponds in the field nor is there a brook that could fuel the stream that flows in the neighborhood below. The source of the stream provides a mystery to the people who live in the homes along its path. Logic-pursuing people explain that everything has a reason, still some things are best left to the imagination.
The lawn of the house is surrounded by a variety of trees–pines, maples, ashes and birches. The spring winds entertain the leaves of these perimeter trees like children swaying to a trochaic tune. The trees crowd each other in the fertile soil trying to prevail among the other trees to gain the favor of the sun. The thick firs are prominent in the property. They are strong, boastful and green oblivious to their eventual demise brought about by the succession of ever-changing seasons.
During this particular spring on a nearby maple a mother robin nervously eyed the occupied nest delicately positioned between a fork of extending limbs high up the tree. Spring lingered like youthful memories as the children’s activity celebrated spring’s conquest of winter ending their indoor captivity. The early April snow was followed by cool May rains, but June finally brought warmth with the lengthening days.
The children were a study of the coexistence of incomprehension, change and perception. The erosion of their innocence already revealed imprints like tracks in the soggy soil that shadowed their awareness of their future. For now, their spirits were free. They lived for the moment at hand and the robin’s nest resting in the crevice of the two limbs commanded their attention.
“If you do Nathan, I’ll run and tell your father,” Whitney boldly warned.
“Don’t listen to her, she’s a girl,” Kyle urged, “They don’t know anything, that’s why they’re always running to their uncles.” Nathan stood, arm-raised holding the hard rubber ball that the boys had teasingly tossed at their cousin only minutes before until that activity was interrupted by Nathan’s father’s reproach. They had thrown flat rocks in the stream to splash Whitney each time she approached them until that activity was likewise interrupted. The robin’s nest captured their revolving attention. Nathan’s focus did not waver as Kyle urged him. Kyle’s confidence was boundless rendering Nathan to attempts to impress his neighboring cousin. The consequences of Nathan’s actions raced rapidly through his mind like escalators operating in different directions. The taunting dare overwhelmed sense, preventing Nathan time to consider the impact of his intended offense confirming that a child’s resolve to prevail against the doubt of his peers is an untamed beast.
As he released the ball directed at the inhabited nest, Nathan was assured that hitting his target was improbable. When the ball disrupted the little cradle from the forked limbs, shock overcame the three children. The nest sprung acrobatically into the air descending through the leaves that acted to delay its descent. The nest landed softly on a carpet of thick silky moss. The children momentarily searched each other’s expressions for approval to approach the fallen nest. They rushed together reaching the nest as one peering over the displaced shelter, three judges rendering decision on the fate of the inhabited crib. Inside the nest were two tiny robins, whose grey feathers barely covered their pink skin. The tiny birds’ eyes were still shut as they instinctively trembled. Their yellow beaks opened and closed in silent helpless cries seeking their mother’s protection.
“You should have listened to me Nathan,” Whitney warned as Nathan studied the tiny birds, “Uncle Hugh will keep you home tomorrow when he sees this.”
“Let’s go get the cats, and then we can throw the nest in the woods,” Kyle exclaimed reacting to Whitney’s warning.
Whitney paused to comprehend Kyle’s plan, “If you do I’ll go and get Uncle Hugh. I mean it.”
While the children disputed their course of action Nathan’s father appeared on the deck, “Kids, come in now, it’s starting to get dark.” The father’s youthful features deceived the manner of his stern spirit. Responsibility monumentally weighed on the man as so happens when one is occupied with incessant tasks. The children recognized his edict as final. Whitney and Kyle hesitated and then headed to the house. Whitney looked back as Kyle climbed the deck’s stairs. Her eyes met Nathan’s eyes offering a plea rather than a warning. Nathan lingered. He gathered the nest delicately in his hands and carefully headed towards the garage. The cats had already gathered by the time he reached the entrance, they sensed the vulnerable meal. Nathan saw the tall step ladder leaning up against the wall of the garage fixated between two studs. Without hesitation he climbed the steep ascent balancing his body against the dusty, oily ladder as he skillfully balanced the nest and its quivering occupants. He placed the bundle on the wide top of the ladder, descending without taking his eyes from the nest. He moved a wooden box of tools at the foot of the ladder. He located two garden spades and a set of hedges, whose blades he opened. He balanced the spades and hedges on their wide wooden handles into the crate further discouraging the cats who might be tempted to climb the steep ladder. Satisfied that the infant birds, awaiting their fate, were secured from the rapacious cats, the young child entered the warmth of the house suppressed by the shadow of guilt that hung over him like the approaching darkness of night.