From my kitchen window I am getting a front-seat view on a bird’s world. A Magpie is trying to build a nest to woo his fair mate. I say trying because this bird must have slept through the nest-building lessons. That, or he’s – can I say it?-retarded.
For days I’ve watched him carry a twig to the crotch of a tree and arrange it. It looks fine to me. Balances in place. Looks like it will stay. But he has to rearrange it. And rearrange it until it falls to the ground. He chatters madly, probably bird talk for ‘%$#^&*^’  Then he’s off again to find another branch.
                                                 
This time he’ll surely be wiser. Right? Nope. Same thing over. Drop the branch. It looks okay. Rearrange rearrange until it falls to the ground. More of that naughty sounding bird talk. So you’d think he’d give up. Not so. He’s been at it all week and still hasn’t abandoned hope.
Meanwhile….
In the tree next door, another magpie has been busily carrying branches and has a very nice-sized nest. This morning he is sitting on his next making wooing sounds. I expect we’ll soon see baby magpies.
                                        
Makes me want to climb the tree and help magpie #1.
Especially because I identify with the bird. When I first started writing, I couldn’t have passed a single story-writing test. I knew nothing. But I started trying and failing. Trying and failing. I was not going to give up.
                                                  
 What can I say? Perseverance pays off.
I’m hoping it will for my magpie friend too. And soon. I can’t stand to think of him with a broken heart having finally built a nest after all the good-looking chick-magpies are taken.