“Nothing about this cigarette…”

“Creations of … mud, found modern objects, human and animal hair, mosses, lichen, feathers and down, sticks and twigs–-all are woven with beak and claw into a bird’s best effort to protect their next generation.”

Sharon Beals, Nests: Fifty Nests and the Birds that Built Them

Once the autumn leaves have fallen, the architecture of trees is revealed. And on this December day, amid a few dried, curled red leaves that remain on my Japanese maple, something else is revealed. Safely tucked into one of the Ys of its branches is a small, abandoned nest.

It’s built of sticks and twigs and mud and man-made litter.

Birds are recycling experts; they create their homes from whatever cast-off construction materials are available. In this case, an industrious mama bird reused the plastics with which we humans continue to foul the shared nest that Mother Earth provides. This domestic avian engineer laid her eggs and sheltered her young in a creation lined with the remnants of sandwich bags and cigarette packaging.

But what’s this? Something glints in the sun.  

Although I’m careful when dislodging the nest from the tree for closer inspection, it falls apart in my hands. But this allows me to see what caught the light a moment ago. A shiny gold pull strip with the words: “Nothing about this cigarette, packaging, or color should be interpreted to mean safer.”

Another heedless warning.

“I’m very concerned for the future of the earth and its amazing creatures. We’ve got to be careful and make sure we don’t foul our own nest.”

John Lithgow