This fickle Spring will not decide. Rain and cold and gusting winds have made a perilous beginning for the robins. The cedar bends and sways while the mama holds her perch in the tidy nest. She hops around, chirping her warnings when we come near. I wonder if I will ever cease to feel it in my heart, tenderness for the fierce and fragile new mother, creator and nurturer of life. The awesomeness of that responsibility.
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