It's the prettiest thing I've seen lately.  I really smiled at the "blue-eyed grass", periwinkle is one of my favorite colors ... this egret. Wow.

I don't know who to credit.  I came across it used as an enticement to read a short story on LONGREADS, a recent subscription for me.

I've asked an artist whose life and work we admire to draw it for us.  I would put it over the fireplace.  As a matter of fact, I can see it there already when I close my eyes.  I hope he says yes.  And I hope I can afford it.

I could draw it.  I'd try gold and silver prism colors with all that grey scale ... and I keep the color true in the bill and feet. I don't even think it would be very hard. But my husband would like it even better if it was done by a real artist. Maybe an anniversary gift.  He misses the view of the San Gabriel river and the birds who lived in that area.

I've never seen a baby bird breaking out of his shell.  I've seen a nest being built.  I've seen eggs in that very same nest when the parent bird flew away for necessities. I've seen the hatchlinsg craning their still wet pink heads and orange beaks up in the open air demanding attention.  I need to check for the shell breaking on you tube.  Somewhere along the way I've come to believe that the shell breaking is accomplished by the baby bird ... unaided ... and on his own time table.  I think I can hear my dad telling me not to break the eggs in a nest because the baby bird was still busy becoming ready for the world. I think he told me that the momma bird doesn't want people smells on the eggs so I wasn't to even touch them.  Maybe it was my big brother who told me that.  I don't remember why I think it's true.

This morning I was trying to explain that to my husband.  Seventeen year olds are exactly like baby birds.  They are struggling to peck their way out of the shell.  I bet it's not easy making those first few intentional neck movements ... their wings would be crammed against the shell itching for room to extend a bit ... the cartilage in the feet still soft.  Baby birds are incredibly demanding. They're vulnerable too. I imagine that all they know is they need. 

I've seen them make the flight out of the nest.  It's a joyous thing to see. Then the nest is silent. Maybe there are birds who return to their nests to hang out with each other. I don't know much about the habits of birds ... what ever the birds who nested around our house were ... they flew out, not very gracefully, and never came back as baby birds.

The 24/7 hands on days of parenting are almost done.
It feels good.
It feels like an accomplishment - they are people who I love, like and admire.  Pretty cool.