Robin Egg Blue

egg

A storm is moving in. Its first breaths of wind stir Aki’s curls as she dashes after her orange Frisbee. She flies by the royal blue shell fragment that rests next to the moraine trail—the top half of a robin egg shell of a shape and color that could have made it a fine wine goblet for the mouse king if not for a small hole on one side—evidence of efforts by the occupant to break into the world. Nestling it in my hand, I wonder at it’s lack of weight, how it stirs in the strengthening wind, if it protected its occupant until birth, or carried the little chick to its death.

mountain

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