Mary Frederick Ahearn
There's a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now,
'tis not to come. If it be not to come, it will be now. If it be not
now, yet it will come.
– Hamlet, Act 5, Scene 2
Walking out early in the cloudy, rain-to-come morning, I think what a
painter could do with these colors – the brilliant yellow of wild
mustard in the spring green field under a low, slate gray sky. Musing on
this, I glance down to see a small broken egg. One half is missing but
this remaining half is a glossy porcelain white, empty; some songbird's
lost future, now a crow's meal perhaps.
I move on, then return to place the egg in a patch of violets and last
season's oak leaves, a new nest. Soon the rain will cleanse it.
covered with fallen petals