There’s an old nest in the hedge, forgotten, deserted.
It rests in criss-cross privet, a sculptural memorial
of eggs cracking, hatching, new life out of dead
twigs, dried moss and lifeless grass.
The breath left it long ago.
A gaping silence.
There’s an old nest in the hedge, forgotten, deserted.
It rests in criss-cross privet, a sculptural memorial
of eggs cracking, hatching, new life out of dead
twigs, dried moss and lifeless grass.
The breath left it long ago.
A gaping silence.
A great wee read, Jan, thank you for sharing.
I really like the thinking from dead twigs to new life.
Thanks Mac – x