Mystery Among Sage

On an overgrown trail lost in the vastness of the west, a tangled fortress of a nest snarls in the crook of a six-foot sagebrush. It is a foot wide and intricately domed with warped and sun-dried sticks. Sharp branches protrude outwardly like the spears of a Spartan phalanx, wrapped together in an impenetrable wall. A single fist-sized entrance lies hidden within the gray-green leaves of the aromatic sage. Between the studded walls of branches I catch the begging heads of three nestlings within. Their raspy calls recall a primal fear; like the rattle of a diamondback.

I sit down some distance away with a view of this special tree and the entire valley. Great buttes rise behind me. The sky is bright and white and warming, bringing such a lovely feeling to my soul. The surrounding earth fades in shades into the distance: from white-clay buttes, to muted sagebrush hills and green grassland valley, to rising mountains on the horizon darkened with the deep olive of ponderosa pines. I ponder and wonder what creature is the creator of this medieval nest. In time, a magpie cruises confidently across a draw and I have my answer.

A second magpie approaches with a crop full of food. They see me of course, an awkward hominid displaced in this wild land. Suspicious, they chatter and approach the silent nest, wary of me. Their calls ricochet off the butte. Alas, with some trepidation, she glides in on her snow-white and black wings and alights on the tower containing her lifeblood. As she enters, the nestlings erupt with emphatic rasps that cut through the summer afternoon lull. Little dinosaurs feed and she emerges from the castle to patrol her great territory.
Time will stand still here for the next month, as each day seems to blend into the next. Dry heat will give way to windy afternoons and the occasional thunderstorm. All the while, the magpies will shuttle meals to their little creatures in the castle until they are ready to set wing to a strange new world. When the first nestling crosses into the bright sunlight, time may begin again as the next chapter commences.
But for now, the nestlings wait and the magpies attend to their vital duties.
I leave them be.
As I leave, a green-tailed towhee whistles and trills in the sweet sun and the world is better for it, better for it all.
