Tarnished Gold

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"You've got to let go of innocence," Mama once told me, "or it will take you down with it when it sinks like some old rotted shrimp boat in the canal."

One spring morning I had come running up to the galerie where she sat weaving palmetto hats to sell to the tourists. In my hands I cupped a dead baby blue jay. I thought it had fallen from the nest, but Mama said its mother most likely threw it out.

I shook my head. I was only seven. It was inconceivable that a mother of any kind could cast one of its offspring out of the nest.

"No, Mama. It must have tried to fly and fell," I insisted.

She put down her palmetto leaves and looked at me with that soft, sad expression in her dark onyx eyes that brought tears to my own eyes. Her gaze went to the baby bird and then she shook her head.

"It's too small to have tried to fly, Gabrielle. It was sickly and either died or would have died. The mother knew what was best."

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