unhatched robin's egg

unhatched robin's egg

hidden under the grass lining

of the empty nest

On this hot, dry, windy August day, I walk over to look at the old apple tree, half dead, with black leaves on black branches, the other half struggling to stay alive, its leaves turning yellow. This is the tree that sheltered a nest with three blue eggs, and then one lone hatchling. It's been over a month since I walked away from the empty nest, feeling empty inside, the baby Robin gone too soon. Now I wonder if the nest is still there. It is. I peer inside, not expecting to find anything, but then I catch a glimpse of a tiny bit of blue peeking through the grass lining. Could it be a fragment of egg shell? Usually the mother bird disposes of any bits and pieces when the babies hatch. I push the grass aside and there, to my surprise, lies a perfect blue egg. Well, a perfect shell, but the insides are surely dried up by now. This must be one of the three original eggs, one that never hatched. Perhaps it got pushed under the lining by the lone hatchling, and went unnoticed by whatever got the baby. It is a strange feeling, finding this hidden egg, like being let in on some mysterious secret.