The Nest
This morning,
arriving early to prepare my office for the day's clients,
I noticed small fragments of straw and twigs
scattered across the step outside the door.
At first, just debris,
the aftermath of wind.
Then I looked up.
From the center of the flower wreath hanging on the door,
long wisps of grass and tiny branches spilled outward in every direction.
And just then—as if on cue—
a small finch arrived,
a strand of straw held firmly in her beak.
Purposeful. Intent.
She paused, waiting, eager to tend to her project.
I stood there stunned, still, smiling,
in awe of these metaphors the universe offers so freely:
a nest being built on my therapy room door!
A place where fragile things can safely emerge.
A place woven one small strand at a time.
A place of shelter, warmth, and patient tending.
A nest where life, still hidden, gathers itself for flight.
And isn't this the work we do here?
Together gathering the scattered pieces.
Twig by twig.
Story by story.
Loss by loss.
Dream by dream.
Creating a space strong enough to hold
what is tender,
what is frightened,
what has not yet found its wings.
The little finch knows something about healing.
She does not begin with certainty.
Only with trust.
One small strand, then another.
Until one day something new begins to sing.
~Alexandra Kennedy, Offerings from the Silence
