When the orioles taunted me for infertility, or so I thought

That Spring, of all the trees in our leafy neighborhood, a pair of orioles honored us by choosing to build a nest on the greater bird-of-paradise plant outside our kitchen window.

It took three days for the pale-feathered female to weave a hammock-like nest, out of palm fibers, underneath the huge leaf. It was inspiring how she made countless trips to fetch fibers, and rigorously wove the fibers into the cozy nest.

Once she laid the eggs, she incubated them with the determination of a meditation. All these time, the turmeric-yellow male, perched on the nearby jacaranda tree, groomed himself, stood guard, and regularly brought a moth, a butterfly or a bee, for her to feed on.

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