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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 8, Number 3, September 2014

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Shobhana Kumar
Coimbatore, Tamil Nadu, India


Confinement

The twigs on the ledge appear almost like magic; their bearers descend without a sound, their wings, hushed into a silence that is both, discreet and disarming. Before I know it they have created the semblance of a home—haphazard, but a home nevertheless. I try to shoo them away but their persistence wins over.

One of them is heavily pregnant. For days, she doesn’t move and uses her avian defence to guard her home and the eggs that she has quietly managed to lay. I watch, in child-like eagerness at the prospect of hosting her confinement. Around two weeks later I am awakened by the chirrup of two helpless babies. Their eyes are shut and they are a deep brown—quite a contrast to their grey parents.

I open out the window on the ledge a little further to let some warmth in. The little ones turn away; bury their heads in their downs but I believe that the morning sun will do them good.

empty nest—
waiting by the phone
for the children's call

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