Susan LaffertyWe move across the world. Connect with new cultures. Plant our lives in soil so different from what we’ve ever known before.
Where is home?
The question crosses our minds. Simmers. Hangs in the air.
If we put down roots here, what happens to the other places we’ve called home?
The birds swoop down toward me. Splattered mud of last year’s temporary nest still stains the corner under the roof of our patio. We’ve tried to deter them. A long rope of brass bells from India hangs from a nail nearby. I watch them pull at the strands of the rope. Loudly protesting this intrusion.
They try a new location. In the opposite corner. Instinct rules and they will not be stopped. We pile something in this new spot. Our attempt at a scarecrow. We wait to see whether they’ll leave for another place.
They’re obnoxious. All the chattering and swooping makes the back patio an unpleasant experience. But I know it’s how they’re wired. It’s time for nest making. Go home.