Faith

I am struck by the bravery of birds.

A black crow caws from the topmost spire of a supple pine; the branch we might trim to allow placement of a star. Storm winds challenge the tree, and the bird sways while surveying his domain, never considering the precariousness of his perch.

Home is a pinestraw bowl nestled artfully in the arms of another tree, decorated by bits of string, tiny shreds of paper, and cotton batting remnants of a discarded dog toy. Here a mother-to-be sits in anticipation of her progeny, never allowing rain or wind or hunger to unseat her. She has a destiny to fulfill.

And they fly.

They spread their wings on capricious currents, and they do so without benefit of GPS, maps, or weather reports. They know where they are going and trust that they will get there;
never questioning,
never second-guessing,
gliding and swooping in faith.