Sunday Morning

The day after the waxwings appeared at my birdbath, I found one of them, its flock long gone, panting on the driveway below a corner of the house where two windows meet and form a mirage of trees and distances. When I stooped to look at the bird, it lay there quietly. Though I could see no sign of injury, I knew it must be grievously hurt to sit so still as I gently cupped my hands around it to move it to a safer place in the yard. It made a listless effort to peck at my thumb, but it didn’t struggle at all when my fingers closed around its wings, and I didn’t know what to do. So much beauty is not meant to be held in human hands.

~ Margaret Renkl, from “Masked” in Late Migrations: A Natural History of Love and Loss 



  1. The fragility…

    Stay well

    Regards Thom

    Liked by 1 person

  2. So much beauty is not meant to be held in human hands…..
    also: So much hurt & pain is not meant to be suffered by human souls.

    Such beauty, such suffering, all to be held, treasured, endured…. and hopefully also changed what’s ugly, difficult, unjust, as well as rejoyed over what is well, wonderful, holy.

    Wishing all a wonder-full Sunday.

    Liked by 2 people

  3. I bet other creatures when held by some humans think, “So much beauty is not meant to be holding me.”

    This baby Robin is so cute, and there’s a Robin fledgling singing his heart outside the window right now!

    Liked by 2 people

  4. Sawsan, you speak of a fledgling singing…. from what age or size do they start singing? Or is this your optimistic wishful thinking? 😉 I hear them chirping…. It’s so quiet out there, it’s magnificent – one feels almost on hols.

    Liked by 2 people

    • 😃
      Not my optimistic wishful thinking. And I’m not sure exactly what age. We’ve lived in the same place for 15 years, and sometime in early March a Robin or two start singing at 3:15 am. This year he or she moved it up to 2:55am. Works like a clock, rain or shine. The North American Robin sings a different song than your European counterpart. They stay here for the winter, and have a different winter song, not this early as the March one. They mate for life.
      The fledglings sing this same song but slightly off tune here or there. I see them. Kinda like a teenage boy trying to speak and sound like his father.

      Here’s the song for you,

      Liked by 2 people

  5. it is a miracle in its own right

    Liked by 1 person

  6. A potent (and welcome) reminder that, come what may, life goes on. We have a nest of Mourning Doves on our patio right now. Watching the parents’ devoted ministrations to those little ones fills my heart….

    Liked by 2 people

  7. that is quite the photo, and an interesting link to the story at Livescience…

    Liked by 1 person

  8. Such exquisite words for such delicate beauty.

    Liked by 1 person

  9. Bin there.

    Liked by 1 person

  10. Reblogged this on It Is What It Is and commented:
    ‘So much beauty is not meant to be held in human hands.’ Margaret Renkl, from “Masked” in Late Migrations: A Natural History of Love and Loss. … SO MUCH IS NOT MEANT TO BE IN HUMAN HANDS!!

    Liked by 1 person

  11. Bless the fragility of life right now. 🌈💚

    Liked by 1 person

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