Two Blue Eggs

 By Maryanna Gabriel

As I pack, I am thinking about home and carrying it within myself. It is not so much a place, but a state of mind. Following my process in the epic events of life brings me to new depths inwardly, and in the voyage I discover who I am, and come home to myself. Er, at least that is the idea. When a place does not work, one nests elsewhere. At least that is the case with me. 

Two Blue Eggs

You may remember, a robin made herself at home in a basket of petunias that hung outside by my door -  an omen of good cheer. She was a companion of sorts and we watched each other, she and I. One day, far too many people came and rang the noisy doorbell. At one point she flew at the head of a serviceman. She disappeared. I missed her. 

Now it is fall and as I take down my flowering baskets, I have discovered the treasure she guarded... two perfect little blue eggs. Her two babies. Oh my.

I feel badly for her. I swear at times she comes and watches me. She has a white band around her pupil and as she eyes me, I squint speculatively back. Are you my robin? How are you? I'm so sorry about your eggs. 

I wonder if she was able to build a nest elsewhere but somehow I think not, that it was too late in the season. 

Nesting is like that. I feel sad this is so.