Several weeks back I spotted two wrens in our garden. They were busily collecting twigs and making trips back and forth to a little birdhouse in a lilac bush.
They were so busy, I sat and watched them for a long while, coming an going and felt excitement rising at the thought of nesting birds in our garden.
I don’t know when eggs were laid or hatched, but the morning of the Summer Solstice I was in the garden at sunrise and this is what I saw.
I looked up above my head and saw the wispy morning mist clouds turning that same wonderful shade all the way across the sky.
I heard the two nesting wrens singing to each other and looked towards their song in time to see them silhouetted on a branch against that glorious orangepink. For a moment they were beak to beak in the solstice sunrise. Then one flew off and I heard for the first time, as she entered the nest the beautiful sound of hungry new life.
It was an inspiring way to begin the longest day of the year.
Since then we’ve noticed constant activity as the parents busily keep their babies fed. The loud song and communication of the parent birds has been a constant in garden as well as the sweet quiet cries of the babies.
Yesterday I went into the garden and all was quiet, no parents flying round, no sound from the nest – the babies had flown!
It was both a very happy thing and also sad to think the little nest was empty and their songs were gone. We had missed all the excitement the day before.
I went into the garden several times yesterday hoping for a sign, but nothing. All was quiet and still.
Later in the day I wandered out again just on chance and heard one of the parents! They were still close by!
I feel very blessed to have spied one of the babies being coached by a parent – I’m not sure if it had actually got the hang of flying yet as it was sitting in a brush pile.
We looked at each other for a moment and then I backed away, not wanting to upset parent or baby.
If you look carefully you can see a couple of little tufts of baby fluff still clinging.
Perhaps Nature was giving me a sign, a metaphor – ‘you’ve left the nest – now spread your wings and learn to fly’