Praise Song for the Baby Chickadees

Something ate all five bluebird eggs, and something ate all three redbird nestlings, but the Carolina chickadees finally raised four healthy babies in the nest box under the eaves, and their voices were like bells that changed in timbre with each passing day, moving down the register until their demands for food sounded almost exactly like the scolding beep-beep-beep their parents make when a bigger bird dares to visit the feeder they have claimed as their own. Then one morning I woke to silence, right on schedule, and they were all gone. It breaks my heart a little that I missed their maiden flight. But only a little.