My husband and I are sitting on the back porch when we hear a cheeping sound.
Underneath our bicycles at the side of the house is a fledgling blue jay that looks too young to be out of the nest.
With one wing flapping, he hops awkwardly into the neighbor’s yard.
I want to follow but know that’s not helpful. So, I stand in place and peer across the fence.
The baby jay has collapsed in the grass, cheeping and trembling.
“Where are the parents?” I ask impatiently.
We often hear blue jays screaming at our cat when she’s out in the yard and assume there’s a nest nearby. Now we know it’s true but it’s of no use to this fragile fledgling.
At last it hops under the curving leaves of some day lilies and finally I see an adult jay on the neighbor’s roof. A second one on the ground.
Parents to the rescue, I think, but what can they do, really? Like all parents, not much.
They hop around, offer food, give encouragement. But they can’t put their young one back in the nest or safely onto a tree branch.
I know the feeling.
The next day the baby jay is gone. I hope he’s taken flight.
