Twiglet #273

Across the Sky

On the couch, drenched in a purple sleeping bag, my daughter mutters “brothers these days!” and I have to agree. He’s a good ‘un, full bottle on the button pressing and unruffled as blue sky.  I join in the niggling, first on her side, then on his and we finish all smiling and it’s one of those times (way too occasional) where I think I have it... that delicate balance between fun and progress - goading them, now, toward tooth cleaning and bed.

But then I’m in the laundry, at the end of this wet day, unloading the washing machine, planning to hang stuff inside – add to the general mayhem of being penned in.  And as I pull clothes from the machine I hear a funny sound a little sort of quiet whistly cheep.  I look at the dog,  at the clothes,  at the drawers and cupboards.  I hear it again.  I look in the incubator.  It’s the last egg on the row, cracked about a third of the way down and I see a little foot inside.   

“We’re having chickens!”  I call, knowing in an instant that bedtime is now hours away.

    a cold front, plump as eiderdowns, 
          shuffles shades of grey
       time crimps like split shells