rockened robin

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"He woke up the room was bare

He didn't see her anywhere
He told himself he didn't care 
pushed the window open wide
Felt an emptiness inside 
to which he just could not relate
Brought on by a simple twist of fate."
"Simple Twist of Fate" by Bob Dylan

One minute, you are high in a tree, gazing out at the canopy from a cozy stick nest, your birthplace. Life is good. You are new to the world, three weeks old, splotched and mottled, growing fast, fed every 20 minutes by one parent or the other.

And then.

You lean over a bit too far, or a sibling gives you a nudge, or a sudden storm whips up with high winds that tousle you around. And plop. You're on the ground, in this case, a mountain road, looking up at where you were born.

You can walk, but not yet fly. 

Your parents know that you are there, they continue to feed you but getting you back to the safety of the nest is impossible. All you have to do is survive long enough on the ground for your wing feathers to grow. But watch out, there are predators...everywhere.
 
As if being cursed with the scientific name Turdus migratorius isn't bad enough, now you're grounded, flightless. Before you've learned to fear predators or even learned fear itself you must get by, surviving somehow until it's time to fly, robin, fly.

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