Soon, instinct will form a twig circle big enough for a complacent robin and three blue eggs, strong enough to buffer rain harm and shelter the charm of mouth-stretching fledglings who know, without learning, the succulence of worms. Nesting is a faith bowl that holds in close comfort unfeathered wings with the capacity for flying until one summer day when down attains the strength of feather arrows and powers forth from the nest's verges toward its own pluripotent mark that a soaring bird heart proclaims in song is not wholly subject to wings but can bring forth notes higher than robinkind has sung before on its way to winter and a new spring, for in innocence acknowledgment has been made that the leaven of sun is not subject to the laws of yeast.

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