Soul Carving

Emily Dickinson called hope " the thing with feathers ". This time of year, nearly every time I'm out for a walk, I can find empty eggshells. The bright turquoise of the robin's shells stand out against the dampened soil. I always feel a surge of excitement when I spot one. I like to collect them for our Nature Nook at home.  But lately, my delight has quickly turned to sorrow as I've discovered several eggs, cracked, but with baby birds still inside. Yesterday, I even found a dead baby bird on our driveway. It makes me heartsick, seeing these lifeless, tiny shapes. As the chatter and songs of a dozen other birds fill the air, my heart swells with a bittersweet ache. I relish the music that surrounds me, but I mourn for those voices that are lost.  Spring is a season of new beginnings. Witnessing death at this time seems like a cruel irony. Like a bird struck down in mid flight, it can cause you to question that budding optimism you felt only moments...