Walking in the woods is one of my favourite things to do. There is something truly magical about a tightly packed forest of trees. It’s almost like walking along a bustling street in Manhattan - so alive are the soaring trees with insects and birds, reptiles and rodents - and yet at the same time you feel utterly soothed by the tranquil sensation of calm which only nature can provide. When the light filters through the leaves and hits the forest floor, the fractured illumination is like a disco without sound. It can be dazzling, disorientating, mesmerising. There is nothing quite like getting lost in a vast natural hallway of trees. There is always something new to discover, to enchant the mind.
Occasionally these walks take a turn for the unexpected, when on an energetic stroll across fallen pine needles and leaves you suddenly encounter something beautiful on the forest floor. With its branches perfectly interwoven, it is like the work of a true craftsman, or an expert milliner. But this is not the work of a human hand. It is the intricately woven handiwork of a bird. For on approaching the object which has appeared amongst a carpet of needles, you find a bird’s nest – perfectly intact, but many metres from where it should be.
There is something utterly breathtaking about finding a nest. It fills you with all sorts of wonder as you observe the mastery of its creation, and admiration at the fragility of its perfectly balanced construct. Usually you can never get so close to a bird’s nest – these things are the preserve of the treetops way up high. So this inspection feels privileged, an exclusive moment, as you take tentative steps towards the nest to discover what lies within.
More often than not, the nest is empty. A feeling of pathos replaces the initial excitement of discovery. What has happened to the nest to make it fall so far? And what of the bird whose efforts are so visible in this craftsmanship? It feels like the discovery of a masterpiece abandoned in the middle of the effort of its creation, like a sculpture, painfully close to completion, yet forsaken by the artist when some natural disaster intervenes. For a moment you ponder, should I climb the tree, and take the nest back to the top? Is there anything I can do to put this wrong to right? But no, this is a narrative which must be left to nature’s will. This nest, now too heavy for a bird to carry, will be abandoned to the forest floor, becoming one more victim in the relentless circle of life. But perhaps it’s better that way: for it is with trepidation that we approach this perfect creation, scared to touch it, in case the fragility of the work crumbles beneath our fingers.
But just as it did when creating this masterpiece, so the bird will commence the slow intricate process of fashioning another nest one day soon, artfully interweaving branches and forest fodder to create one of nature’s most beautiful and perfect homes.
CAPPUCCINO GRAND PAPIER, Volume 9, pp 46-47
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