Today Today, as two planes flew into the World Trade Center, I cut branches from the maple tree in front of our house. Today, while another plane flew into the Pentagon, I cut a tall branch that grew from a low knot. Today while the buildings collapsed and burned, I found three near-fledged cedar waxwing chicks. They were holding tight with tiny feet to the fallen branch straining necks upwards. Above, in the crook of a branch that had been brushed hard by the falling one, a spilt nest from which they’d come. I took the ladder from the garage, opened it against the tree, and rebuilt the nest as best I could. Then I carried each chick gently back to nest, small clawed feet clutching desperately to my hands. As I moved the last, it opened its mouth as if to ask me to regurgitate a meal into its mouth. Instead, it let out its small alarm call, its parents flying in from somewhere, brushing my hair,
