I was trimming the crype myrtle tree between my driveway and my parents' when a bird flew out.

I do not care for birds, because they always seem to be aiming for my head in a parking lot, as if my grey hairs are in the shape of a bull's-eye. I saw the nest, and decided not to cut the branches supporting it, and show the kids the nest. Then I thought to check for an egg. Not only was there an egg, there was a lifeless little birdie. I immediately felt horrible, hoping that the momma bird would come back even though I was messing around in the tree and taking pictures.

The little birdie finally started moving around. She posed better than Kate Moss after a promise of a kilo of coke.

I got Bubba and showed her. We discussed not actually touching the nest, baby bird or egg. I made that mistake when I was a kid, and the mom didn't come back.

I kept an eye on the nest as I cleaned up the weeds I pulled, and was so thankful to see the momma bird return and take her spot as the head of the nest.

I do find it very ironic that she bolted for her own life when the clippers were near, but no matter. She came back and protected her baby and egg just as a storm came rolling in.