a home. a place of new life, new beginnings, old endings, memories, art. just a place to be safe. Not a place of danger. where a creature goes to find safety, or to find danger.
En rede. Det er egentlig mærkeligt at man kalder et en værre redelighed. For en rede er udgangspunkt for vækst. Den måske lidt kaostisk at kikke på, men hvis dette kaos har været med til at skabe nyt liv så er det vel ikke så uredeligt endda.
Mostly, I think that my home was like a nest. It’s strange, I think, to say it like that. I mean, my mother is quite like a mother bird in the sense that in the end, she is forced to push you out of the nest so you can fly. And I think I’m that one small bird you find in a pile of feathers at the end of your drive way: I didn’t make it after my mother pushed me out of the nest. But it’s true and although it’s sad, I must live with the fact that I am the sad, small bird, that ends up squashed by the tire of your old minivan.
a home for baby birds. a place to be safe and happy and with your family. made of twigs and sticks and other things. warm, cosy and full of love. rhymes with pest and best and rest. a place to rest and sleep at night. to protect birds from harm and danger and predators.
the nest is a home for birds, their shelter and the place of solitude. it might be perceived weak and vulnerable but it means a lot to the birds. Exactly what You are to me :)
It was a nest and it was large. In it was a single egg. I couldn’t say much about it but that it did not fit the size of the actual nest, but instead lay in the middle of it. I would say that the nest made it even smaller than it really was, if that in anyway was possible. The nest itself was composed of stiff twigs, braided into strange patterns and shapes.
A nest is a place for birds. Birds do things in nests. They had babies in nests. They give worms in nests and have typos and don’t write (as far as I know) in nests. Nests are made out of twigs and stuff. That’s good I guess.
Hawkeye, or Clint Barton, lives in a nest. He keeps his snacks and his quiver up there, as well as his bow. He enjoys his nest because he can see everything. He also likes to lay eggs and steal Natasha away sometimes and bury her in said nest.
The baby bird becomes the bird that must fly out of the nest. You can’t remember how or when it happened, but the time has come where you must jump out and take a leap of faith. The days going by, each one inevitably ending faster, there is no avoiding it. The nest must be left.
where my home is where i want to know how to stay but i can never really have one because its not meant for me i was always one to run and run and run the thought of permanent is scary because a promise never meant anything to anyone but me so how can i believe it wont disappear.
To a bird, a nest is very important. It is the beginning of where their lives begin. Where their mothers nurture them and teach them how to fly. Once they grow up they build a new nest and start of family of their own. It’s like a cycle:)
When I was 6 years old, I used to play in our backyard and I remember one day I found a bird’s nest. My mother pointed out to me how intricate and special a bird’s nest is and how no 2 bird’s nests are the same. In a way, we are all our own birds’ nest.
The nest was up too high to reach. Danny tried for an hour, but he couldn’t quite make it. His hands kept slipping, wet from the sweat of exertion from keeping himself upright on the cliff. He trusted his harness, but it only would only take a moment of distraction to slip back down and have to resume his treacherous climb.
My mom will be an empty nester soon. I’m worried about her but I think it might also be good for her. I’m worried it will strengthen her and Jill’s bond which is a horrible thing to be worried about but as long as Shona and I ad here were first
birds live in these after they make them. the pigeons used to take Meg’s fur and make their nests with it. some people collect these. they keep baby birds safe. if you find a bird that fell out of it’s nest, you can safely put it back if you can reach the nest. It is a myth that the parents will reject it if it smells like humans. :)
I am building a nest. I am a bird. I am trapped. I should fly away, but I don’t. I won’t. Will I? No. of course I won’t. It’s not allowed. I must build the nest. I must. I must. I gather the twigs, the dirt, the mud, the clay.
Birds are beautiful creatures. My best friend is actually terrified of them. I once saw a nest of bees and we tried to kill all the ones inside of it but in the end we were terrified to do it because we didnt want to get stung. Haha I wish I could be in a nest far up in a tree. It’d have a nice view.
It was… Nest like. In the room he had accumulated quite a collection of paraphanelia, much off it consisting of bits and peices from the formerly living victims. Whom were all found in the land nearby. He was sick and needed help
a nest is a bird’s house. It’s her shelter. The way at the end of the day we all want to go back to our own paradise, so do the birds and other animals too. a nest is the safest places on earth for all living creatures. It’s what we create with love, care and happiness and hope to keep with us forever. <3
A place where eggs are hatched and little baby bird beaks are poking up towards the sky, eager for food, for their mother to return so they know they’re safe. Baby birds are pretty ugly though.
Egg is laid in nest. Protected and warmed by its mother. From this egg becomes baby bird. Baby bird is fed by its mother. From this Baby bird becomes bird. Bird learns to fly from its mother. From this bird leaves home to start its life. Bird makes a new nest. From this new egg is laid
A nest is a peaceful place. A place that suggests spring, and freshness. It embodes youth and growth. It is a familiar, familial place. Serenity, and peace flood the hearts of all who near it, and empower those who spring forth from it.
Birds build nests for they’re baby birds to house them. Those birds are laid there then they hatch and are fed there. Those birds grow up in those nests and leave to go build their own.
I saw a nest the other day. It was full of fluff and twigs and hair. It made me wonder how it all got there. I saw the remnants of a little home. Babies all flown off into the unknown.
I’m thinking of a place where I feel safe. Somewhere I’m nurtured and have every opportunity to be myself. More than that, the nest is somewhere I feel I’ve become too complacent, somewhere too safe. Sometimes we need to fly the nest to really grow, right? I hope to do that someday soon.
A nes r t is a place of saftey. it is a ghaeve haven for a dear little bird . it is a plquiet home. it isa placec of rest and secutiry a place of fgrowth and youth. it symbolizes gfamily, unity, adnd strength. it is fluffy, and brambly at once.
Overwhelmed. It’s all I feel as the tears well up inside of me. Sitting in the backseat, I see the stark contrast between siblings and friends, and although we have always committed ourselves to each other, there’s no beating out what they share: blood. I will never infiltrate their sisterhood–I will never be a part of that bond. They will keep their secrets, just as they do now, and even though I pester them for the truth, I won’t receive it. I’m a foreign bird in this familial nest, and all I need to do is fly. But it’s harder than expected, and even if I wanted to, it’s not as easy as it sounds.
The nest fell and the bird cried out in terror, but knew he had to try to fly or else he’d fall into the churning sea below. He held open his wings and got a little lift, but the nest had dislodged and fell on top of him, smothering any chance of flight and life.
is a place filled with bits and pieces of home and desperation and love a nest of thorns and feathers. a destination of lost and of flight. and ultimately of return. home.
the bird had a nest. the wind blew it away. so the bird build a new nest, and had babies in it. the little birds chirpped for food, but the mom had none. So they moved, where there was more food. the birds grow up and flew away. The mommy died, and the nest blew away. the pine needles blew in the air and wondered until a bird picked them up and made a nest with them.
Moral of the story?
Life fights you until the end, but the world goes on wherether you’re ready or not.
Three little heads poked out of the top of the nest. Eyes barely open, the bird chirped for thier mother. Waiting expectantly for her to come home with food. With every sound they pop thier heads up in anticipation.
Birds softly sing from the top of the tree. The little girl looked up at them, smiling. “One day,” she thought, “I’ll be free, too. ”
She then began to sing quietly, in tune with the birds… “One day…”
a nest of trees lays in the birds and what comes of it is amazing, the music reaches my veins and a drowsy numbness pains my sneses as teh notes dance across my forehead and leave a note of love letters in their wake
A place to rest. A habit. Mom’s love. I love my own nest. I build a nest. My son is in my nest, but will soon fly away. I will forever build a cosy nest for my home. A nest is where you sleep. You breathe, you take rest. You care for someone. You cook food for someone you love.
a home. a place of new life, new beginnings, old endings, memories, art. just a place to be safe. Not a place of danger. where a creature goes to find safety, or to find danger.
En rede. Det er egentlig mærkeligt at man kalder et en værre redelighed. For en rede er udgangspunkt for vækst. Den måske lidt kaostisk at kikke på, men hvis dette kaos har været med til at skabe nyt liv så er det vel ikke så uredeligt endda.
Mostly, I think that my home was like a nest. It’s strange, I think, to say it like that. I mean, my mother is quite like a mother bird in the sense that in the end, she is forced to push you out of the nest so you can fly. And I think I’m that one small bird you find in a pile of feathers at the end of your drive way: I didn’t make it after my mother pushed me out of the nest. But it’s true and although it’s sad, I must live with the fact that I am the sad, small bird, that ends up squashed by the tire of your old minivan.
a home for baby birds. a place to be safe and happy and with your family. made of twigs and sticks and other things. warm, cosy and full of love. rhymes with pest and best and rest. a place to rest and sleep at night. to protect birds from harm and danger and predators.
the nest is a home for birds, their shelter and the place of solitude. it might be perceived weak and vulnerable but it means a lot to the birds. Exactly what You are to me :)
It was a nest and it was large. In it was a single egg. I couldn’t say much about it but that it did not fit the size of the actual nest, but instead lay in the middle of it. I would say that the nest made it even smaller than it really was, if that in anyway was possible. The nest itself was composed of stiff twigs, braided into strange patterns and shapes.
A nest is a place for birds. Birds do things in nests. They had babies in nests. They give worms in nests and have typos and don’t write (as far as I know) in nests. Nests are made out of twigs and stuff. That’s good I guess.
It fell from the tree tops. It contained nothing. The sticks were nice.
Hawkeye, or Clint Barton, lives in a nest. He keeps his snacks and his quiver up there, as well as his bow. He enjoys his nest because he can see everything. He also likes to lay eggs and steal Natasha away sometimes and bury her in said nest.
The baby bird becomes the bird that must fly out of the nest. You can’t remember how or when it happened, but the time has come where you must jump out and take a leap of faith. The days going by, each one inevitably ending faster, there is no avoiding it. The nest must be left.
where my home is where i want to know how to stay but i can never really have one because its not meant for me i was always one to run and run and run the thought of permanent is scary because a promise never meant anything to anyone but me so how can i believe it wont disappear.
To a bird, a nest is very important. It is the beginning of where their lives begin. Where their mothers nurture them and teach them how to fly. Once they grow up they build a new nest and start of family of their own. It’s like a cycle:)
When I was 6 years old, I used to play in our backyard and I remember one day I found a bird’s nest. My mother pointed out to me how intricate and special a bird’s nest is and how no 2 bird’s nests are the same. In a way, we are all our own birds’ nest.
Home is where the heart is, or so it goes. For Robin, home is where all the hurt accumulates. “You’re not wanted here,” his brothers tell him.
“You’re not needed,” says his sisters.
“You’re broken,” murmurs his mother.
“You’re not ours,” says the father.
The nest was up too high to reach. Danny tried for an hour, but he couldn’t quite make it. His hands kept slipping, wet from the sweat of exertion from keeping himself upright on the cliff. He trusted his harness, but it only would only take a moment of distraction to slip back down and have to resume his treacherous climb.
where bay birds live. Bird houses no roof so birds can still get wet,not much shelter, fragile. beautiful, sticks and
My mom will be an empty nester soon. I’m worried about her but I think it might also be good for her. I’m worried it will strengthen her and Jill’s bond which is a horrible thing to be worried about but as long as Shona and I ad here were first
Her nest was composed of all the books that she had collected over a lifetime, gathering them around her for comfort, security and. . . dreaming.
birds live in these after they make them. the pigeons used to take Meg’s fur and make their nests with it. some people collect these. they keep baby birds safe. if you find a bird that fell out of it’s nest, you can safely put it back if you can reach the nest. It is a myth that the parents will reject it if it smells like humans. :)
I am building a nest. I am a bird. I am trapped. I should fly away, but I don’t. I won’t. Will I? No. of course I won’t. It’s not allowed. I must build the nest. I must. I must. I gather the twigs, the dirt, the mud, the clay.
Birds are beautiful creatures. My best friend is actually terrified of them. I once saw a nest of bees and we tried to kill all the ones inside of it but in the end we were terrified to do it because we didnt want to get stung. Haha I wish I could be in a nest far up in a tree. It’d have a nice view.
It was… Nest like. In the room he had accumulated quite a collection of paraphanelia, much off it consisting of bits and peices from the formerly living victims. Whom were all found in the land nearby. He was sick and needed help
a nest is a bird’s house. It’s her shelter. The way at the end of the day we all want to go back to our own paradise, so do the birds and other animals too. a nest is the safest places on earth for all living creatures. It’s what we create with love, care and happiness and hope to keep with us forever. <3
nest to birds is home to humans.
A place where eggs are hatched and little baby bird beaks are poking up towards the sky, eager for food, for their mother to return so they know they’re safe. Baby birds are pretty ugly though.
Egg is laid in nest. Protected and warmed by its mother. From this egg becomes baby bird. Baby bird is fed by its mother. From this Baby bird becomes bird. Bird learns to fly from its mother. From this bird leaves home to start its life. Bird makes a new nest. From this new egg is laid
A nest is a peaceful place. A place that suggests spring, and freshness. It embodes youth and growth. It is a familiar, familial place. Serenity, and peace flood the hearts of all who near it, and empower those who spring forth from it.
Birds build nests for they’re baby birds to house them. Those birds are laid there then they hatch and are fed there. Those birds grow up in those nests and leave to go build their own.
I saw a nest the other day. It was full of fluff and twigs and hair. It made me wonder how it all got there. I saw the remnants of a little home. Babies all flown off into the unknown.
I’m thinking of a place where I feel safe. Somewhere I’m nurtured and have every opportunity to be myself. More than that, the nest is somewhere I feel I’ve become too complacent, somewhere too safe. Sometimes we need to fly the nest to really grow, right? I hope to do that someday soon.
A nes r t is a place of saftey. it is a ghaeve haven for a dear little bird . it is a plquiet home. it isa placec of rest and secutiry a place of fgrowth and youth. it symbolizes gfamily, unity, adnd strength. it is fluffy, and brambly at once.
Overwhelmed. It’s all I feel as the tears well up inside of me. Sitting in the backseat, I see the stark contrast between siblings and friends, and although we have always committed ourselves to each other, there’s no beating out what they share: blood. I will never infiltrate their sisterhood–I will never be a part of that bond. They will keep their secrets, just as they do now, and even though I pester them for the truth, I won’t receive it. I’m a foreign bird in this familial nest, and all I need to do is fly. But it’s harder than expected, and even if I wanted to, it’s not as easy as it sounds.
Nest. Home. nests keep birds safe, as homes keep humans safe. The nest is where birds can grow, and be loved. Home is where the heart is.
The nest fell and the bird cried out in terror, but knew he had to try to fly or else he’d fall into the churning sea below. He held open his wings and got a little lift, but the nest had dislodged and fell on top of him, smothering any chance of flight and life.
is a place filled with bits and pieces of home and desperation and love a nest of thorns and feathers. a destination of lost and of flight. and ultimately of return. home.
the bird had a nest. the wind blew it away. so the bird build a new nest, and had babies in it. the little birds chirpped for food, but the mom had none. So they moved, where there was more food. the birds grow up and flew away. The mommy died, and the nest blew away. the pine needles blew in the air and wondered until a bird picked them up and made a nest with them.
Moral of the story?
Life fights you until the end, but the world goes on wherether you’re ready or not.
Three little heads poked out of the top of the nest. Eyes barely open, the bird chirped for thier mother. Waiting expectantly for her to come home with food. With every sound they pop thier heads up in anticipation.
Birds softly sing from the top of the tree. The little girl looked up at them, smiling. “One day,” she thought, “I’ll be free, too. ”
She then began to sing quietly, in tune with the birds… “One day…”
a nest of trees lays in the birds and what comes of it is amazing, the music reaches my veins and a drowsy numbness pains my sneses as teh notes dance across my forehead and leave a note of love letters in their wake
A place to rest. A habit. Mom’s love. I love my own nest. I build a nest. My son is in my nest, but will soon fly away. I will forever build a cosy nest for my home. A nest is where you sleep. You breathe, you take rest. You care for someone. You cook food for someone you love.