seasoned

i reeled in mid-summer on the clothes line today...

as i opened the back door, i was startled by a peripheral bursting forth of wings and beaks and squawks; a family of robins, fledging their young.

the ones that got away hung close-by, watching the little leave-ling teetertotter atop my linens. it was scrubby and spotty, so i was unsure of its' ability to fly...

it fumbled on the line, so slowlyslowly i drew the line in toward the railing, creaking the young bird toward a less forbidding landing.

i pulled it so close that i could practically count the last few downy feathers on its' breast when whirrrrrrr it was off, with adolescent daring, fleeting over the very flagstones i had worried would finish the wee thing off.