A chick peers down from his lofty nest in the fork of the Camphor tree. His expression is one of shocked confusion. He's suddenly been granted a lot more space and he shuffles absently amidst the twigs at his feet. Just a few seconds ago, his brother stretched his wings, opened up his flight feathers and was swept up by the breeze. They're now both alone. It's the way of life.
Grey feathers adorn the fledgeling dove on the grown below. They are only just long enough to have taken up the buoyancy of flight, but sufficiently able to have projected him a distance. Sudden understanding of his new skill urges him to flutter his wings again. The shock of his accomplishment makes him shiver and he looks around urgently. He's only a few meters form the nest, but there's no going back now. Instinctively he seeks protection and shuffles under the foliage. The unfamiliar texture of cool ground between his toes makes him even more uncertain. It's quite unlike the warmth of the nest he shared with his brother.
"Coo...coo..." he calls.
In the furthest tree, another dove looks upon the scene. She's seen this scene often before. It's time to sit back and watch what the world and its hazards will make of her offspring. It's also time to replenish her energy reserves. She's spent 14 days nurturing her eggs and another two weeks encouraging the chicks to embrace their new world of flight. The time has arrived for her to move on.
She'll watch the fledglings for a day or two. If all is well, she'll turn her back on the duo. The next 24 hours will tell. She'll still have to feed them - dropping half-digested seeds in their path when needed. Her training has been precise and perfect, and her work has been done well. Her beady eyes peer down in satisfaction. Sometimes a mother's work is, indeed, done.
Aren't the mysteries of our world incredible?
