Off The Cuff: 'Mothers in arms'

She looked at me. I held her gaze. We stood transfixed. Moments passed. Precious, wonderful moments. I dared not breathe. She moved uncomfortably, shuffling from foot to foot. Still, emboldened that she didn't leave, I stared.

She was nervous, I could see that. I tried to communicate my calmness through sheer power of thought. I think she understood, because the jittery movements slowed and eventually came to a standstill.

Throughout it all, I hadn't moved a muscle.

It all started several weeks ago, when a pair of sparrows decided to set up nest in a broken balcony lamp. My broken balcony lamp. The adjacent balcony housed a wiry, tough little flowering plant, struggling against the odds. Its bright, pink blooms were fighting to make an appearance and stay healthy for the duration of their short lives.

Every morning, Mama and Papa Sparrow twittered down from their nest and settled on the spunky little plant. They sang and twirled, kissed and cuddled. Each day, the stem and branches of the plant heaved under their weight. Each day, the blossoms shivered, perilously close to falling off. But somehow, they endured.

Yesterday, I found a petal on the balcony floor. It was pretty and young and had passed over before its time. I glanced up at the broken lamp and found another petal peeping out, bright and stark against the dull ceiling paint. My eyes narrowed. This had got to stop. Mama and Papa were in for it.

So there we were. Mama cocked her head at me and wondered what I was going to do. I had walked out innocently to inspect the flowers, and ended up face to face with her on her favourite bedding store. Papa was nowhere around. We both caught each other by surprise.

Only a few inches separated us. This was my big moment to show her who was boss, but something held me back.

I looked into those bright, black eyes - defiant and bold. In that invaluable interval, she proceeded to enlighten me. She was just another mother, doing her best for her young. Mothers have a tough enough life, just getting by.

For a tiny bird to get a nest ready in the middle of a desert town, it must obviously call for much hard work and ingenuity. I could only imagine the sacrifices she made, and the hours she spent flitting from concrete perches to tarred roads and endless plots of sand to find sustenance and elusive pieces of soft down for her mattress and her babies' cribs. How could I possible deny her a prize find?

I was still not breathing and in a statue-state. Mama inched ever closer to a flower with both eyes on me. Tense moments.

Suddenly, 'Get away from there! Shoo!' My sons' nanny was waving her arms about and being uncharacteristically loud. Mama bolted, and I turned, mildly irritated without knowing why.

Leel, as the boys called her, complained bitterly about the sparrows' daily routine and how it messed with her gardening efforts. It was time to wake the boys for school, I hastily reminded her.

As I gently shook the comforter mounds on the bed, I glanced through the window just in time to catch Mama making off with a particularly pretty petal.