Mothering My Flock

This poem by Anne Bradstreet is one of my favorites ; so fitting of my own life of Motherhood:
         
          "I had eight birds hatchet in one nest,
           Four cocks there were, and hens the rest,
           I nurst them up with pain and care,
           Nor cost, nor labour did I spare,
           Til at the last they felt their wing,
           Mounted the trees, and learned to sing.

           Or here or there, they'll take their flight,
           As is ordain'd, so shall they light...
           Mean while my days in tunes I'le spend,
           Till my weak layes with me shall end,
           In shady woods I'le sit and sing,
           And things that past, to mind I'le bring."

While all my "birds" have taken their flight, it is my observation that birds in treetops and those perched precariously on telephone wires may have found a place to light, but they soon take flight once again.  Even as I sit singing in shady woods reflecting on the things that are past...I, nor they have taken our final flight... may our destination be the same, though our flight patterns may have been different.