Hold My Life

Though the sky was gray this morning, I happened to look up at a street-side tree near my office on Chicago Avenue at the right time. Someone nailed a couple of two-bys to each other, and to an upper branch to, apparently, cradle a nest, a fairly large one composed not just of twigs and raffia, but larger stuff -- we're talking sticks, branch-size stuff. This was a substantial homestead. In a neighborhood of smart highrise buildings thrusting plush condominiums up into the sky, this rustic penthouse suite fit right in.

I like to think that some tenderhearted (and weatherproofed) soul spied the nest teetering on the edge of disaster, and took steps to save it. There's been a lot of construction in the area, so perhaps a bit of scaffolding biffed the tree and dislodged the nest, or, I don't know, some crane action put the avian residence in peril. Whatever the cause, a Good Samaritan grabbed some leftover lumber (or perhaps made a Home Depot run) and a ladder and constructed a ballast so that whatever is living or will be living inside this nest will survive the winter.

While I'd be keen to get hold of a ladder myself and climb up to see what, if anything, is resting inside it, instead I'll be looking up when I walk toward work, in case one day, once spring gently envelops the city, a beak or a wing or a whole entire tiny bird might emerge from this delicate domicile.