Empty Nest

The deep and dark forest was a tapestry of green. Hanging leaves, shrubs and branches, idyllic and serene. Emma flitted and flapped, sprinting around the tall trees. She was lightning, a blur, going wherever she pleased. Her feathers were preened; they were smooth as a sheet. That evening she hunted, for something to eat.

It was never a challenge to fill her small belly. She was fast and the opportunities, well, they were many. Bugs, nuts, berries and plenty of fruits; her favourites were the freshest from newly grown shoots. She ate her fill and rested once done. After all it was only dinner for one. It felt strange to hunt, not for two, not for three; they’d flown the nest, all her family, you see. A beloved son, long grown to full size, had left as expected, leaving tears in her eyes. Emma wished him the best and had known it was time, for boy to become man and to make his own dime. The stories she’d read to him while he was a chick, went around and around in her head like a trick. She couldn’t forget the way they would rhyme, she remembered each one, every word, every time. The musical limericks would spin tales, strange and wild, bringing comfort at dusk to the sweet, sleepy child.

Now she continued through life and its trials all alone, reminiscing of times she’d been needed at home. Those wonderfully charming stories she’d read, often now brought her, some comfort instead. They could take off the edge and soothe some of her fears. But nothing could stop the full torrent of tears. His father was gone, he packed up and walked out. He said he’d remained for the kid through his doubt. Without any warning, he was simply done. Emma was nothing, but a mistake to outrun. While Emma gave love, time and trust while oppressed, the dastardly cheat plumed a different red crest. He broke her big heart into pieces that day. She was devastated, lost, alone in dismay. Until she found anger and cursed that damn wren, the son of a finch better get out a pen. She’d divorce him, the liar, the cheater, the pest, and you better be sure she was keeping the nest. Once the papers were signed, she was free as a bird, she’d managed to take him for all but a third. Her anger remained but she moved on with her life. Alone but content to be nobody's wife.

She tried to find something to keep herself busy, but all involved choices, enough to get dizzy. Her life was her family and without them around, she was bored, lost and useless…no new purpose found. The trees were crammed full with loud birds, each content. Emma felt lonely, washed up and all spent. Jealously consumed her, then anger and hate. Why did none else, get dealt her cruel fate!? She stormed between branches and ripped berries from trees. She flapped her wings hard, killing buds, tearing leaves. It wasn’t fair that she was apart from the rest. It was mean, a harsh joke, for her to be without nest. Emma’s rage, and her fight, was eventually spent. It drained from her like the hot air from a vent. All that was left was sadness, and emptiness…a sense of defeat. She was done, washed up…old and complete. She sighed and accepted that her last chance was lost. There was nothing ahead, but the cold winter frost.

It came to a head when it was too much to bear, she found herself wishing, she just wasn’t there. Staring into the rapids from the top of the falls, she knew if she dropped, she’d smash into the walls. Emma perched there for hours, afraid not to exist, but thought it would be better, than dealing with this. The choice, it was taken, by a passing lone hawk, who swooped down to eat her, with a deafening squawk. She dodged it and fled with all of her speed, determined to live, to escape, to succeed. As she zoomed through the forest, her heart was alight. It pounded her chest and fuelled her soul bright. She wanted to try; she needed to be. There was a future ahead, she could break free. The close call awakened the little bird to one fact; she was stronger than most, and worth staying intact. Emma returned to the forest, renewed in her purpose, she would never allow herself another sad circus.

She was the most beautiful of birds, her tail glorious blue, a fairy wren should never betray her bright hue. She attacked her new life and made herself great, she did it herself, without needing a mate. Emma became a little wren to adore, the bird to admire, even more than before. She worked on her outlook, practised gratitude and faith. She put aside her losses, moving forward with grace. Her son was a man; she was proud of that fact. It had been her own doing, to raise him like that. He didn’t need her, it's true, yet her memories remained. She held them close-tight and cherished the love they had gained. Her life was a gift and one she planned to use. Emma worked hard to change, to refresh all her views. Once she was done and content with her place, she found all desired her, and forever gave chase. You see to be loved, a bird must be bright. To shine from within and light up the night. The way Emma did this was to find who she was, to craft it and grow it, and be better, just because. She did it for her and she’d do it again. Nothing is better than being one's own friend. She held on to memory, of her son and her past, but never would she let it, rip up her recast. Instead, she took heart, as she sat on an egg, that her youngest would soon hear, more tales before bed.