Charm

From the minute they set a date for the nestwarming party, Clarissa was worried. Never mind that there really wasn’t anything to worry about; that hadn’t stopped her before and it wouldn’t stop her now. Clarissa was happiest, Oro liked to say, when she had something to worry about.

“What if it rains?”

“Then we pivot and say it’s a hatchling shower."

"What if it's not finished?"

"Then we'll make everyone pitch in and help."

“What if no one shows up?”

“That would be lucky indeed.”

“Oro, stop teasing. You know I just want everything to be perfect.”

“Darling, it already is perfect. So perfect it’s almost cruel of us to show off.”

The nest, of course, had not yet been built--but Clarissa knew what he meant. Midsummer hung damp and sweet in the Amelanchier shrub where they perched. On every inch of every branch, paper white blossoms fluttered, a thousand stars against the deepening blue sky. Crickets harmonized with throaty, warty garden toads just out of sight. And above the yard, fireflies formed a lazy, meandering string of softy blinking bulbs.

The male goldfinch hopped closer to his mate, wordlessly letting his wing brush hers. It really was perfect, and no amount of her worrying would change that. Clarissa turned and tucked her head under Oro’s, admiring as ever the striking yellow plumage of his breast. One week, she assured herself. Before them lay the scatterings of what would become their nest: some bark chips, a length of twine, and a beakful of dandelion stems. Her third nest, but her first nestwarming. Oro’s entire flock of origin would be there. If it couldn’t be perfect, it had to come close.

—

The week flew by. Oro was responsible for fetching materials, but the actual nestbuilding was hen's work. Clarissa obsessed over every detail, chirping out requests of increasing specificity and difficulty that her mate cheerfully fulfilled. 

"More thistle." Off Oro winged to the meadow.

"Cattails. Three big ones." 

"Only three?" Several hours later, an exhausted, beak-sore Oro returned from his third trip to the pond, bits of cattail fluff stuck to his legs.

"I need some caterpillar silk." 

"Of course, darling. I'll just pop down to the caterpillar silk shop." 

Clarissa's efforts paid off; the nest was her best yet: cozy, sturdy, watertight. Still, she worried. Previous years had seen them living in sturdier, arguably safer environs: the dogwood at the lake, the sapling in the park. Never before had they chosen a backyard to start a family in. But the location couldn't be beat, and the human couple had no pets and no small children. What's more, Oro had glimpsed a large, unopened bag inside the shed.

"It's birdseed, Clarissa. I just know it is."

"Oro, you can't read. It could be garden soil. Or charcoal. Or poison!" Clarissa twittered and shivered, thinking of her future fledglings. "Are you sure this is a good idea? Maybe we should have stayed at the park with everyone else."

The male goldfinch smiled at his nestmate. "The only thing you should be worrying about," he said, "is coming up with the next batch of names."

---

The day of the party came calm and cloudless, extinguishing Clarissa's weather worries. She fussed about the Amelanchier, putting finishing touches on their branch and tugging bits of the nest into place. Oro meanwhile flitted around the yard, tidying up. Their shrub would only hold so much of the colony; the rest would have to alight on the surrounding trees, or even the grass. 

When he saw the first finches arriving, Oro flew to Clarissa's side. "I know the clutch isn't even here yet," he said, "but I was wondering if you'd like to do this again in another few months?"

"Oh, Oro." Clarissa watched their friends, relations, and friends-of-relations descending from the clouds. The sun flashed on their sleek bodies, and she saw how they were like tiny gold charms on an invisible, perfectly linked chain of life. 

It was a good day for a party.