High in the tree, Hootsie flipped her soft moss pillow for the third time.
But the moon still shone through the nest, and her eyes stayed wide open.
Crickets chirped below. Leaves whispered. "Go away, big feelings!" Hootsie blurted into the warm dark.
She tucked her head under one wing, then peeked out again.
She patted the nest into a neater circle and tried again and again.
The bark felt rough under Hootsie's claws. Far away, an owl hooted. Hootsie answered with a small, shaky, "Hoo..."
The heavy feeling stayed.
With a huff, Hootsie stood up and gave the nest a fierce flap.
Feathers puffed up like a tiny summer snowstorm.
One feather landed right on Hootsie's beak. It was so silly that she almost laughed.
Then the first tear fell onto the moss with a dark little dot.
Hootsie cried and cried, and the tears came fast like a summer storm.
Tears pattered on the nest while the branches swayed outside.
Hootsie listened to the soft drip-drip and wiped wet cheeks on a downy wing.
At last, the crying slowed to quiet sniffs, and the night air turned still again.
She settled into the damp-spotted moss and pulled one loose feather close like a little cloud.
The moonlight looked gentle now. The crickets kept their steady song.
One sleepy blink, and Hootsie drifted off into the calm summer night.
