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small miracles

Today I stepped out the door to go for my walk. Under the pale blue sky and with no thought in mind except to walk, I happened to look toward our pink-flowered hawthorn tree where I noticed a pile of grass that seemed unusual, like the leftovers from mowing the lawn.

I turned it over. It was a nest that had fallen from the tree, a little sworl of grass and twigs vacated by the robins who had built it.

Inside the nest:  turquoise shards of egg shells from babies who had flown away. And some pink flowers.  How did they get there? Did a some person put them there after the nest fell? Or did the robin put them there?

I added some blue lobelia from our yard and photographed the nest under the the tree from which it fell. It seemed a small miracle to me.

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