Willow Birds

It was late August, and Delaney Robinson triumphantly yanked the last weed out of her zucchini patch as she squinted into the setting sun. The days were getting shorter, and the evenings darker. Delaney imagined for the millionth time that Willow Banks was a bustling city, as opposed to the shabby farming village she’d grown up in. She would have a miniature garden on her balcony overlooking the city streets, illuminated by the continual glow of urban life.

A sharp bark from her neighbor Rose’s dog shattered her fantasy and she snapped back into the present with a sigh. She stood up, wiped her face with the back of one threadbare gardening glove, and let herself out of the wooden gate marking the entrance to the vegetable garden.

The next morning, a quiet, sleepy Saturday, Delaney took a plate of cinnamon toast outside on the back deck for a quiet breakfast. The cold wind had blown through unusually early this year, and Delaney shivered as a brisk breeze blew her hair into her face. She slipped back inside in search of a jacket. As she padded through the kitchen, she heard a snippet of her parents’ conversation.

“-saying it’ll be a tough winter-”

“-don’t know how we’ll- oh, hi, Laney!” her mother chirped, tone abruptly changing mid-sentence.

“Hi. What are you talking about?”

“Oh, nothing” her mom remarked with a casual flip of her hand. “It’s nice out today, isn’t it? Should be a good day for your plants.”

“Actually, it’s a little cold, but it’s a nice change, I guess.” Delaney grabbed her windbreaker and stepped back onto the deck. At fifteen, Delaney understood the financial pressures her town was under. Willow Banks was the last town in the region to rely solely on free-range family farms. It was doubtful how long one small dot on the map could keep its head above water in a world of robotic agriculture.

Delaney thought about her parents- stuck here their whole lives, with no intent to leave- and shuddered. What was the point of living in such a beautiful world, she thought, if you never saw any of it?

Delaney’s reverie was interrupted by a scuffle in Rose’s yard. She ran over to the fence and hopped up on the lowest rung.

As she peeked through the wooden slats, she beheld what appeared to be a wild goose chase. Or, rather, a wild dog chase. Rose, looking wild and unkempt, sprinted after Gideon, her cantankerous old beagle, as he nimbly evaded her pursuits with an agility previously known only to younger dogs.

Sprinting as though pursued by outlaws, Rose finally managed to tackle the dog, only then noticing a bewildered Delaney, observing the scene over the top of the fence.

“Delaney. . .” Rose looked heartbroken as she picked a bedraggled brown object off of the ground. “Look what he did!”

Nimbly scaling the fence, Delaney found Rose holding the limp body of a dead bird. Gideon was notorious for exhibiting uncharacteristic spurts of energy for the sole purpose of destruction. With an exasperated look, Delaney turned back to Rose. “I guess we should bury it.”

The two girls scanned the yard for an appropriate place.

Delaney noticed the nest first. “Rose, look!”

It was under a huge willow tree, a pile of sticks and leaves in an otherwise spotless backyard.

Rose shook her head. “He must have knocked it out of the tree.”

They stood there looking at it, until a small chirp broke the silence. Using a stick, Delaney gently lifted the upturned nest, revealing a single tiny bird. Its yellow beak yawned up at them, giving a tiny chirp of greeting.

Rose gingerly lifted the little bird, cradling it in her hands. “Let’s help her out. I think I have an old shoebox in my closet.”

Once the little bird was safely nestled in its new home, a gray shoebox filled with the remnants of its old nest, Delaney nodded in approval. “Now all she needs is a name.”

Rose, who believed that bestowing a name upon something was a serious process that deserved a lot of thought, pondered this. “Willow,” she said.

“Like the town?”

“Like the tree. So she remembers where she came from once she flies away.”

Delaney smiled as she thought of her hometown. It was the nest that few were brave enough to leave.

She nodded as she again pictured her balcony garden, soaking up sunlight and blooming with willow saplings. “It’s perfect.”

Elise Stankus 2020. All Rights Reserved.