The place was warm, and cozy. It was practically as if somebody had knitted it. It had afghans thrown over sagging, comfortable looking couches, alcoves for reading, and books stacked high at the foot of every wall.
There’s a nest outside my window. There were 3 baby birds in it. In one week of hatching they were practically full grown chicks. Robins whatever they are called. One left the nest, so my aunt went to go try to put it back in. Obviously she doesn’t know it’s natural to jump out of the nest. So she scared the other 2 out of the nest while trying to find the other one. She ruined my happiness.
a place for birds to have their young, they care for them there. the babies huddle with their mom is this nest and live through a long winter. mom comes back with their meals. they jump off and fly from their nest. The nest’s job of keeping these baby birds is done and the mother can live off. the once baby birds will create a nest of their own in the future.
I already had this word, but I’m going to write again. Mam calls my room my nest, as I don’t like leaving it. She says that I decorate it with sticks and leaves (posters and ornaments) like a bird does. I disagree.
A term deemed to young adults is “nesting.” Many young men and women find it agreeable to walk around home goods stores and imagine a home full of appliances. Particularly young women find great joy in this.
I was in my mother’s nest. Protected and freed from all my troubles and daily plights. I was just her child now, not any of the other burdensome roles that I had to play in my daily life. I was care-free, my mind was just a vacant landscape. It was soothing and comforting to not think about anything other than her arms as they surrounded me, and the vibrating beats of her heart. I was free, even if just temporarily, and recharged continue my surf on top of the harsh tides of life.
It had been three hours. Still Alvin lingered there, watching the flurry of activity that continued, the moment of his departure a brief drama that they all seemed to have quickly forgotten. He remembered the warmth of sitting there amongst everyone, then looked around at the trees ripped in all directions by the wind, howling around his ears.
He took a step closer and paused, watching patiently. He didn’t know how, but every urge within him told him there had to be a way back in.
i must say, my mother was very good at raising us. She was very nurturing and made sure we felt good. what she has done in her empty nest makes me long for a mirror or a time machine or some other kind of instant replay review that could show her she needs more self care. That the o
A bird lives in a nest, which reminds me of a story I wrote about birds once. I don’t know what else to write, oh my gosh. Um, leaving the nest. Ummmm. Nest nest nest. What am I supposed to write. Parents, empty nest syndrome, children. Wow, I would write more, because I was supposed to write but that would feel like cheating. I don’t like cheating.
The bird nest was lodged high above in the tree at my childhood home. I watched all sorts of birds fly to and from that nest, observed the new birds and the old ones, and looked at the different chicks that were hatched and raised in that nest. When it came time for us to move, I knew I was going to miss that nest. It was like a next-door neighbor that I could never talk to or meet, but I felt connected to that nest, as if it was a keepsake or a memory.
nest. nesting. Fair enough since I seem to be doing just that. Nesting. Trying to organize, placing every object in it’s rightful place, and then moving it again. I can never find the perfect spot. Blame it on the hormones. Blame it on the pregnancy. Nesting. Somehow at the end though it is perfect.
there was an old bird that had no home. Everytime he’d try and build a nest , the wind would blow it away. All of his other friends had already built their nests.
Nests are like homes.They are quite. Sheltered. They protect you from the world.
But a nest is also where you grow up and take flight. It’s where your life begins. It’s where you realize that you can do anything.
A nest is a beautiful thing. Full of life. Tweeting, feather-ridden, fluffballs awaiting the world from a bird’s eye view. The creatures who know so much of the world but lack the experience. The nest helps warm the birds as they venture for their first breath-taking flight to adventure the world that they view from above.
I feel like I’ve flown the nest, grown up and hopped into the real world. I’m working a job, got a bank account, got a new boyfriend, bestfriends; a life. You fed me for a while, made me the most important person in your life and kept me warm, happy and clothed. Love you always, mummy <3
He sat in the cocoon. Hoping the world wouldn’t crumble in around him. The nest was warm. It had some faults sure, it wasn’t a nice house or a mansion on the rocks but he was safe and hidden there. hidden from the frightening things that circle around each person in this world.
The eggs hatched and the birds were fed. They grew and grew until they couldn’t grow any more. Leaped out and flew away from their nest, to make their own.
Nest is a cradle that holds a lot of wishes from birth. is what you wish for, is what you claim for. Nest is only a state of the mind that pushes you to evolve in such way that you conscience will be grateful for. Nest is just imagination.
nests are so untidy and branchy i dont get how birds can sleep in them i mean its not nice to be slumbering on twigs poking into your back but hey if birds can do it then you guys keep on doing it because y’all are tough cookies . i mean i guess they’d die without em because how else would they stay warm
I sit here in my nest in my room. It’s comfy. It’s homely. I love it, simply because I’m warm and alone and un-judged and I can do anything and nobody will be stood over me asking, “What are you doing?”
Three little birds sit together waiting, hunger growing in anticipation. Where is their mother? Why has it taken this long for her to return? How will they manage to feed themselves without her?
The bird fell out of the nest and into the ground. I picked it up slowly, examining it for damage. It was fine, but could not fly. It was just a baby. I could not climb the tree, so I left it. And some days I still think about it, hoping some cat did not devour it or make it its toy. Some days I still feel regret for it.
the birds are always flying around on beautiful days like these. hopping across the dirty ground, scrounging for any form of food, hoping to return to their nest, able to feed their newborn.
birds in the trees. shredding johanna’s clothing to make a make-believe nest for myself. all of her new clothes if possible because the newer the material, the better and more long-lived the nest. but back to birds. some birds don’t know how to make nests. like brown headed cowbirds. they are nest parasites. they choose a nest, let’s say, one belonging to an American Robin and boot out one of the eggs in the nest only to replace it with one of their own. parasites. they have no inclination of how to build nests on their own, it is not in their evolutionary pathway.
One small nest where we can lay together, my head on your warm, thumping chest. We will talk about life as if it is new, we will share these expieriences together. Our lips will meet and we will forget everything else, our mouths breathing in harmony, our hands dissapearing.
the bird must fly from the nest. I see the world moving ever faster the further I get to where I am going even though my destination doesn’t yet exist. Why does the bird chirp so constantly loud?
The house is empty. All the muddy footprints, crayon murals, and juice spills have long been wiped clean. All the toys have been put away, all the sounds of whining and laughter have faded along with the children here. The nest is officially empty, though the mother bird now longs for it to be filled once more.
The birds nest down by the creek that i almost stepped on because it fell off the tree above me and there in its canopy were two blue eggs that I knew never would hatch. Life is mean that way, maybe if there wasn’t a storm we’d have more birds singing outside our windows.
Oh, I had this word last time, but you know whatever. As I was saying, nests, the home of the bird. So close and personal. With the eggs inside, all a mommy bird ever wants to do is protect them. Its a beginning and an end i suppose. Everything ends right back at the nest. It’s quite adorable actually.
The nest of the pterodactyl troopers were irrevocably elegant and breathtaking. I sat amazed staring up at the circling forms of the vicious predators above me.They were beautiful and graceful, yet, underneath the pristine shell lay rows of razor sharp teeth that could cut through flesh and marrow with ease. I was terrified.
Fritz ducked so his head did not hit the bird’s nest tucked between the branches. The two monks trailed behind him, clutching each others arms in fear. When Fritz lifted a hand, they both froze. “Wait,” he whispered, his trained ears catching the sound of approaching enemies.
where home i
the mosr comfortable place the resting place
really cosy
the final destination
the place you leave behind
the ultimate satisfaction
all the warmth in the world
birds
momdad
love is here
When I finally left the comfort of my family nest I was excited about life on my own. I wouldn’t have to answer to anyone but myself. If I decided I wanted to hook-up with someone I didn’t have to sneak him into the basement. What stood behind my four walls was all mine. It was modest and small, but in this tiny studio apartment I made all the rules.
The place was warm, and cozy. It was practically as if somebody had knitted it. It had afghans thrown over sagging, comfortable looking couches, alcoves for reading, and books stacked high at the foot of every wall.
I embody the human form, this mode of being is my nest, my mold, and I could not possibly be acquainted with any other.
There’s a nest outside my window. There were 3 baby birds in it. In one week of hatching they were practically full grown chicks. Robins whatever they are called. One left the nest, so my aunt went to go try to put it back in. Obviously she doesn’t know it’s natural to jump out of the nest. So she scared the other 2 out of the nest while trying to find the other one. She ruined my happiness.
a place for birds to have their young, they care for them there. the babies huddle with their mom is this nest and live through a long winter. mom comes back with their meals. they jump off and fly from their nest. The nest’s job of keeping these baby birds is done and the mother can live off. the once baby birds will create a nest of their own in the future.
I already had this word, but I’m going to write again. Mam calls my room my nest, as I don’t like leaving it. She says that I decorate it with sticks and leaves (posters and ornaments) like a bird does. I disagree.
A term deemed to young adults is “nesting.” Many young men and women find it agreeable to walk around home goods stores and imagine a home full of appliances. Particularly young women find great joy in this.
It is with in your protected nest that witch you are faced with your inner demons and face your personal truth.
I was in my mother’s nest. Protected and freed from all my troubles and daily plights. I was just her child now, not any of the other burdensome roles that I had to play in my daily life. I was care-free, my mind was just a vacant landscape. It was soothing and comforting to not think about anything other than her arms as they surrounded me, and the vibrating beats of her heart. I was free, even if just temporarily, and recharged continue my surf on top of the harsh tides of life.
It had been three hours. Still Alvin lingered there, watching the flurry of activity that continued, the moment of his departure a brief drama that they all seemed to have quickly forgotten. He remembered the warmth of sitting there amongst everyone, then looked around at the trees ripped in all directions by the wind, howling around his ears.
He took a step closer and paused, watching patiently. He didn’t know how, but every urge within him told him there had to be a way back in.
i must say, my mother was very good at raising us. She was very nurturing and made sure we felt good. what she has done in her empty nest makes me long for a mirror or a time machine or some other kind of instant replay review that could show her she needs more self care. That the o
A bird lives in a nest, which reminds me of a story I wrote about birds once. I don’t know what else to write, oh my gosh. Um, leaving the nest. Ummmm. Nest nest nest. What am I supposed to write. Parents, empty nest syndrome, children. Wow, I would write more, because I was supposed to write but that would feel like cheating. I don’t like cheating.
The bird nest was lodged high above in the tree at my childhood home. I watched all sorts of birds fly to and from that nest, observed the new birds and the old ones, and looked at the different chicks that were hatched and raised in that nest. When it came time for us to move, I knew I was going to miss that nest. It was like a next-door neighbor that I could never talk to or meet, but I felt connected to that nest, as if it was a keepsake or a memory.
nest. nesting. Fair enough since I seem to be doing just that. Nesting. Trying to organize, placing every object in it’s rightful place, and then moving it again. I can never find the perfect spot. Blame it on the hormones. Blame it on the pregnancy. Nesting. Somehow at the end though it is perfect.
there was an old bird that had no home. Everytime he’d try and build a nest , the wind would blow it away. All of his other friends had already built their nests.
Nests are like homes.They are quite. Sheltered. They protect you from the world.
But a nest is also where you grow up and take flight. It’s where your life begins. It’s where you realize that you can do anything.
A nest is a beautiful thing. Full of life. Tweeting, feather-ridden, fluffballs awaiting the world from a bird’s eye view. The creatures who know so much of the world but lack the experience. The nest helps warm the birds as they venture for their first breath-taking flight to adventure the world that they view from above.
I feel like I’ve flown the nest, grown up and hopped into the real world. I’m working a job, got a bank account, got a new boyfriend, bestfriends; a life. You fed me for a while, made me the most important person in your life and kept me warm, happy and clothed. Love you always, mummy <3
He sat in the cocoon. Hoping the world wouldn’t crumble in around him. The nest was warm. It had some faults sure, it wasn’t a nice house or a mansion on the rocks but he was safe and hidden there. hidden from the frightening things that circle around each person in this world.
birds fly away home eggs are being looked after by their mother
The eggs hatched and the birds were fed. They grew and grew until they couldn’t grow any more. Leaped out and flew away from their nest, to make their own.
Nest is a cradle that holds a lot of wishes from birth. is what you wish for, is what you claim for. Nest is only a state of the mind that pushes you to evolve in such way that you conscience will be grateful for. Nest is just imagination.
nests are so untidy and branchy i dont get how birds can sleep in them i mean its not nice to be slumbering on twigs poking into your back but hey if birds can do it then you guys keep on doing it because y’all are tough cookies . i mean i guess they’d die without em because how else would they stay warm
I sit here in my nest in my room. It’s comfy. It’s homely. I love it, simply because I’m warm and alone and un-judged and I can do anything and nobody will be stood over me asking, “What are you doing?”
its a little place where bird just chill out like a crib wouldn’t it be cool if they had pimp my nest i would watch that daily.
Three little birds sit together waiting, hunger growing in anticipation. Where is their mother? Why has it taken this long for her to return? How will they manage to feed themselves without her?
The bird fell out of the nest and into the ground. I picked it up slowly, examining it for damage. It was fine, but could not fly. It was just a baby. I could not climb the tree, so I left it. And some days I still think about it, hoping some cat did not devour it or make it its toy. Some days I still feel regret for it.
bird sing nest sticks family love togetherness close stuff outdoors trees eggs comfort
the birds are always flying around on beautiful days like these. hopping across the dirty ground, scrounging for any form of food, hoping to return to their nest, able to feed their newborn.
birds in the trees. shredding johanna’s clothing to make a make-believe nest for myself. all of her new clothes if possible because the newer the material, the better and more long-lived the nest. but back to birds. some birds don’t know how to make nests. like brown headed cowbirds. they are nest parasites. they choose a nest, let’s say, one belonging to an American Robin and boot out one of the eggs in the nest only to replace it with one of their own. parasites. they have no inclination of how to build nests on their own, it is not in their evolutionary pathway.
One small nest where we can lay together, my head on your warm, thumping chest. We will talk about life as if it is new, we will share these expieriences together. Our lips will meet and we will forget everything else, our mouths breathing in harmony, our hands dissapearing.
the bird must fly from the nest. I see the world moving ever faster the further I get to where I am going even though my destination doesn’t yet exist. Why does the bird chirp so constantly loud?
The house is empty. All the muddy footprints, crayon murals, and juice spills have long been wiped clean. All the toys have been put away, all the sounds of whining and laughter have faded along with the children here. The nest is officially empty, though the mother bird now longs for it to be filled once more.
The birds nest down by the creek that i almost stepped on because it fell off the tree above me and there in its canopy were two blue eggs that I knew never would hatch. Life is mean that way, maybe if there wasn’t a storm we’d have more birds singing outside our windows.
Oh, I had this word last time, but you know whatever. As I was saying, nests, the home of the bird. So close and personal. With the eggs inside, all a mommy bird ever wants to do is protect them. Its a beginning and an end i suppose. Everything ends right back at the nest. It’s quite adorable actually.
The nest of the pterodactyl troopers were irrevocably elegant and breathtaking. I sat amazed staring up at the circling forms of the vicious predators above me.They were beautiful and graceful, yet, underneath the pristine shell lay rows of razor sharp teeth that could cut through flesh and marrow with ease. I was terrified.
of thieves
of tears
of teats
of dictionaries
of bell ringers
of sandwiches
of scruples
of stew
Fritz ducked so his head did not hit the bird’s nest tucked between the branches. The two monks trailed behind him, clutching each others arms in fear. When Fritz lifted a hand, they both froze. “Wait,” he whispered, his trained ears catching the sound of approaching enemies.
where home i
the mosr comfortable place the resting place
really cosy
the final destination
the place you leave behind
the ultimate satisfaction
all the warmth in the world
birds
momdad
love is here
Warm cozy safe filled with unconditionsl love where fsmily and friends gayher to share and make to memories
When I finally left the comfort of my family nest I was excited about life on my own. I wouldn’t have to answer to anyone but myself. If I decided I wanted to hook-up with someone I didn’t have to sneak him into the basement. What stood behind my four walls was all mine. It was modest and small, but in this tiny studio apartment I made all the rules.