Hand to Mouth
Like nestlings, we have survived. Through the scorching summer sun and the cold winter. Fragile but wanting, ever hungry and noisy. Impatient. Always waiting for mother to fly back with a meal to spit in our gaping mouths. At times she would take longer to find a juicy worm or a fruit. But who were we to care. No matter the struggle - hunted by a snake or catapulted by a hunter - all we cared for is to be fed. Seasons pass and nestlings become small birds and can no longer fit in the nest. Taught how to fly and fend for themselves. And before long we have our own eggs to look after. I guess I have an egg, wait come to think of it, it's a whole nest of eggs. But there is one special egg, one stolen form the golden goose, the golden egg. The slay queen of the eggs. The other eggs must be real jealous of her look at her glowing all day like she owns the nest . . . Ata am sure she won't hatch! I love all my eggs, no one should touch the...