May 23

I went out to check on the bird family this morning to find the chaos of nature had played itself out in my tiny backyard. Perhaps a cat, or a racoon, or heck could it have been a squirrel? Whichever it was, it came and did violence upon the nest. I righted the birdhouse and picked up a couple of feathers. One of the baby bird corpses, the only tangible casualty, was lying on the patio below the birdhouse. In an impotent gesture of sentimentality, I placed it back in the nest in the birdhouse.

So, I've been thinking a lot about the animal world today.

...he heard very sorrowful voices in a thorn-bush. It was Darzee, the Tailorbird, and his wife. They had made a beautiful nest by pulling two big leaves together and stitching them up the edges with fibers, and had filled the hollow with cotton and downy fluff. The nest swayed to and fro, as they sat on the rim and cried. "What is the matter?" asked Rikki-tikki. "We are very miserable," said Darzee. "One of our babies fell out of the nest yesterday and Nag ate him."

Rudyard Kipling wrote "Rikki-Tikki-Tavi," a story about a mongoose who defeats a pair of cobras who tyrannically rule over a garden. Right there in this garden, nature plays out just like in suburbs and cities: grief, outrage, duty, cowardice, courage... It's comforting to think it works this way.

But today, I know better.