Hatching

I am empty-handed, and so

I go for a walk,

Amongst the sticky buds and poking green

I find it -

Smooth as stone

An enigma sealed tight

Taut with possibility.

Don’t grasp,

It will crush

Leaving nothing.

I nurture it, warm it,

Hold it close as a secret

Mindful as a new mother

I turn it over, examine it for signs

Of what it will become.

I watch.

And it begins.

Don’t hurry it

Don’t force it into the light

It will burn in the glare of exposure.

It emerges

Reveals its nascent form

I touch it, hear its breath,

Feel its heartbeat.

It stumbles,

An imperfect, uncertain thing

Unfurling, pulsing with the life I gave it.

It flutters,

Stutters across the page

And takes flight.