Chickadee sat on his branch, the same way that he has since last year. Last year, the spring that he left home, flying away in a fever; young, eager, naïve. Now it was spring again, and Chickadee had grown wiser. He had learned where the best berries were to be found, where he could find seeds in an enclosure far away from the jaws of any fox or hawk that happened to be hungry. The superior on the food chain. Best to avoid.
Chickadee had built his nest in a snag of a tree, where the rotting wood was soft and came apart easily. It was perfect for his home. Right outside of his home was his branch. He had come to know his branch very well, in the fleeing of his superiors, in the landing after a cold winter day when he could shake the snow out of his feathers. It was where he had seen the most beautiful Ms. Chickadee (although she was already taken), where he had felt the sun dry out his wings. Now, Chickadee sat on this branch enjoying the warm, wet spring breeze drifting by for a moment before lunch.
Chickadee launched off his branch and flew for a moment before swooping down and catching a nice, juicy caterpillar. Then he headed home. But when he got home, something was missing. His branch was gone.
There was a tear in the side of his tree, right below his nest. He rose in the air as he flapped his wings a little faster and released the caterpillar from his mouth, hunger forgotten. He then looked towards the ground, where he saw his beloved branch splintered on the brush of the forest floor. He gasped-
“Chick-a-dee-dee-dee!”
Before diving down to his branch, his lovely, beautiful branch.
What was so special about his branch? Why was he so connected to this dead bough on the rotting tree? This was bound to happen at some point, and Chickadee can just find a new branch in the vastness of the forest. But this branch – this was his branch; Chickadee’s branch, his one source of control in the tangle of leaves and bushes. Now, Chickadee is lost, spiraling into this new unknown- what will his new future be? What roots will hold him in place now that his safety is dead?
So Chickadee sat at his branch, lost and forlorn.
So lost that he didn’t notice the owl swooping down from behind him.
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