Saw this bird's nest while waiting for my bus. What caught my eye was the ribbon of plastic flapping like a kite tail in the wind. Inside the nest was a single dead leaf, brown and curled and fragile.
I thought about nests today, how they're supposed to be a symbol of spring, but every time I see one, I remember the nest we found at Gigi and Granddad's old house in Lithonia. The mother birds had flown away during the tornado, leaving their eggs behind, and Gigi passed a blue one over for me to hold. It was heavier than I'd expected, and cold. When my baby sister held it, she pressed too hard and popped the shell, and in her hand she held a perfectly formed dead baby bird.