eaglet's surprise
Between the void of space and the crumpled berm of blue-green, red-ribbed, rumbling earth, a wind blows, gentle and mighty. This firmament of birth, broad enclosure of our earth, whirls beyond our comprehension, yet within our hearing and our knowing, but beyond our grasp or grip. Rip, flip, trip it slips through our invisible atmospheric tide, bellowing, caressing, stirring mist within our breathing and our gentle, writhing ride.
There is a creature whose native country is that domain of air. Endowed with wings of quill, it compels every wisp and waft of atmospheric nuance to its own advantage. Thus the agile eagle soars nimbly between yon mountainous clouds and above our nimbus trees.
Her rising thermals o'erflown, her swooping secrets to us unknown, she at last settles upon her aerie rock, to tend her young...stupid eaglets still not grown. It is said among the wise, and yet it is a tale to tell, that she...with her younglets' comfort unimpressed, does up and kick them from the nest. Could such a tale be true?
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