The Story Book; The Empty Nest

 The Story Book; The Empty Nest

 The Story Book; The Empty Nest

My nest is now empty, as it should be.

Orderly, Peaceful, and Tidy.

My children have developed gracefully and flown.

Precisely as I had instructed them.

And my heart is still brimming with love and pride.

But there is an aching, a throb, and a sorrow there.

Only a mother can give of herself in the way that I have.

My empty nest feels hollow, and I can hear the echo of my own breathing.

 The Story Book; The Empty Nest

My concerns have not disappeared with the fledglings; they are still there, but without the solace of a head resting on a pillow upstairs.

My imagination conjures up the stories I don't want to hear, and my free time—once so prized—is now my adversary.

My nest is now empty, as it should be.

However, I won't be alone, tiny one.

Like you, I'll use flight to locate my new position in this narrative.

Make noise, invite friends around, laugh, and liven up the place so that when you get home, you won't see any reason to be concerned because doing so will clip your delicate tiny wings.

And you'll recall how cozy your nest used to be.

And every now and then, you'll want for that sensation.

This nest won't ever close, and I won't allow it to stop loving me.

Soar, my loves, soar.

And keep in mind how to get back home.

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