One of the trees in our garden is just the slightest bit green-tinted at the moment. I know that one day soon, I’ll look outside to see those little buds have all sprouted at once (or so it seems), and the green mantle will be dancing in the breeze, singing the song of the winds.
But today, there was no buffer. Branches swayed and pitched, still exposed from winter – and I could clearly see the thick nest left there by last year’s visiting birds.
Built when the leaves were dense (possibly to hide from Harry the cat), the nest was abandoned in Autumn and is still vacant. I watched as those winds threw its’ foundations every which way.
The nest did not move one inch. Constructed so well from such tiny pieces of matter, it moved with the branches while staying upright and intact. The tree might be blown hard, but the structure remained. Should any of the local flocks notice and return, their chicks would be perfectly safe there.
Later on, as I drove into town, more evidence of that avian strength and wisdom. A beautiful buzzard hanging low over the busy road, apparently waiting for me to pass before swooping onwards and upwards again. He rode the waves of the sky in simple play, with occasional curiosity as to what was going on beneath, but entirely in his element.
The winds may buffet us, we may try to protect ourselves, but sometimes it just takes the observation of what goes on naturally to realize: the most important thing is to ride the waves, in the manner that suits us best.