There is a nest, perched on the outcropping of the bare bulb mounted on the rafter in the barn.
When I found it weeks ago, it looked very much as it does now—unseen eggs waiting inside --the promise of life.
Helpless and bare, they arrived one-by-one, four dependents, the charge of two doting parents.
Almost perceptibly, changing and growing. Hinting at who they were to become.
Soon, four faces peering over the rim. Eager eyes bright, with eager feathered wings.
This quiet, safe place becoming their past; the sky, their future.
The nest sits empty now—a reminder of that promise.
Their lives in the skies, a joy to behold.
Still, a tear.