the birds nest there and they’re very comfortable. I think. Why else would birds build them? Also they are very protective of the little birds. I’m making no sense. Do i have ADHD? Well, this is fun. Kind of. I like it! Nests are awesome. What if people made nests? Fun to think about. What if questions. I like them kind of. Unless they’re about bad things. Whoa my sixty seconds started over! Sixty seconds is one minute, right? Right. That’s cool. Nests. Well. They’re made of twigs and hair and sticks and things like that. Anything the birds can get their beaks on. I think almost all birds build nests, don’t they? Except penguins. Or certain types of penguins. Almost up. Bye! Time’s up.
Margaret
Nesting — what mothers do. What, then, when the nest is empty? Guess we’ll find out!
Fly, babies, fly. But don’t forget to make your way back to the home nest once in a while.
Momma M
A bird’s nest sitting on the limb of a tree precariously. That is what I hoped to see when I looked up but I couldn’t find a nest. I looked down at the helpless baby bird on the ground and tears came to my eyes as I too realized I was helpless as well.
Angelina
My nest is my household. My mother’s knitted the nest with her love and care. Many people associate nests with birds and other animals that take random earth elements and twine it together but, I think of my mother’s hard work that she wound together to make a comfortable life.
Tia Mariee
Nestling in the nest, we shall rest before our next test.
a bird lives in it. It’s usually made up of leaves and twigs…Is it leaves? Probably not. One time, my stepsister and I decided to make a nest. We gathered twigs, and mud. But when we put it up in the tree, it broke in half. After that, we had to bury a weeks worth of nest building. But at least we did it together.
Abby
My nest will be empty soon. All my children grown, flying the coop. It breaks my heart and excites me, all at the same time. What comes next? What does my life hold for me? Will I be the same person, or someone brand new? Have I done enough for the kidlings to leave the nest? I pray that it is so.
Angela
As I dream of long, blonde, easy, hair, I look out and see a birds nest. Mangled, tangled, with twigs, and warmth. I realize i don’t mind my hair.
Walking through the forest one summers day, Maria noticed a dishevelled looking nest laying on the path ahead of her. She rushed to the scene and crouched down to inspect the pile of twigs and sticks. It appeared that there were no casualties. She sighed a breath of relief.
Sarah
Sitting in the nest the small creature writhed in pain. It was a dangerous place for such a new born creature. Once thought to be safe. The safe haven. The home. It was now empty. Except for the one small, forgotten, lost, and dying infant. Alone and destined for nothing but the end. This was it for the small creature. This was the end.
PH
A nest is what birds call their home. It’s a place of safety and refuge. Birds scour the skies finding food for their young and return to their nest, their home. A nest is a lofty place where they watch the world from above.
Sarah
A nest is what birds call their home. Their safety. Their refuge. It’s a place where they bond with their family and watch the world from above. Where they can be at peace with the world.
Sarah
In the little steel nest lay three small boys, the barbed wire around them threatening to scrape against their exposed toes. They were all blond, though the heavy mud and brush threatened to tarnish the gold bouncing on their heads as the cold winds blew around the debris. One was clinging to what appeared to be the remains of a stuffed bear.
I reached over the wire to touch one boy on the shoulder. He didn’t move.
Belinda Roddie
I once saw a nest in a tree
Didnt know how it got there
Didnt even see the birdie leave
Just saw two big eggs
White as snow sittin there
I couldnt help but stare
Wondering what it would be like
If my life was like that
Tyler Baker
i want to live in a nest, just like the free birds, and feel the freedon in my skin! it’s makes me happy
heloisa
She found a small bird’s nest, lying on the ground just under the spreading birch. She immediately ran to it, and picked it up, shouting to her mother to come see what she had found.
Nomi
I am back from the nest. Birds always..Well this brid always flys back to the nest. To nestle around in the space thae he was born. Where he learned to fly. where mother would feed him chewed up worms. and now the bird is free. the bird is empowerd. the bird has choice. and that bird chooses to stay close to the nest.
I nest within my sacred space,
the inner haven which shelters my soul.
I lay at rest in this holy place
giving birth to frail strength which will make me whole.
She flew down, her vibrant blue feathers ruffling in the breeze which warned of storm winds. She looked down and landed on her branch, her home. The twigs twirled in the air, the brown disheveled surface sticking every which way. She sat tall in her nest, and got ready to lay her first egg.
Look at them. The feather-brained. The flighty. Gathering twigs and twine. Making nests. Mere fledgelings themselves. Twittering and trumpeting their settling down. When all I want to do is to feel the flap and ferocity of wings, test the strength of my wingspan, and fly into an endless horizon.
the baby bird fell so quickly. down from it’s home. it fell like many birds do, but it didn’t catch itself. it just fell from it’s one environment. down. down from it’s home.
syrest
it is similar to a home, in fact noless than that. Some returnt to this place in night after hard days work of findin fod for thier family, some leave it for the life to come.Its the relevance that remains and not whether how many years/ time span you stayed there.
Smita
So maybe I’m not like the other eggs in the nest. My mother is pushing me to leave but it was warm and comfortable and just adequate. Like me. Like everything I wanted in life.
its for a bird, and its brown and soft. round. with lots of twigs and vines creating it. I want to live in it and hide. a family of birds live in my roof. I want a nest on top of a tree, on the highest branch so i can see everything and still be safe.
Grace
birds live in nests that’s there home but when they are old and grey they go away and start a new nest people say how weird but i say hey we are just like them always flying away.
reilly
I didn’t grow up in a nest but sometimes it feels like I did- a nest of full of hungry kids and disorganized parents trying their best to fend for them. The nest grew bigger when my little sister was born, exactly eight years after I was.
Faisal Khan
Nested loops and algorithms. Nests and swallows. Empty nests. Twigs, branches, mud and pebbles – hard work for a bird.
i once saw a birs nest fall from the tree and i ran to try and save it as i could see there was eggs in it i ran as fast and hard as i could i dove to catch it but i wasn’t fast enough the eggs fell with the nest and broke off the ground and i only thought of how fragile life is.
Alan Lynch
ik zou me graag nesten met een knappe man die lief en behulpzaam is.
Net zoals vogels zich nesten in hun nest, dit vind ik best wel gezellig eigenlijk. zeker als je als mens ook zo je eigen nestje kan hebben.
Aline De Lombaerde
He looked down at the crunch beneath his feet. “Crap. No more nest for them.” He turned his head, and glanced half heartedly at the apartment he was to call home.
“Eagle One, this is Nest. What is your status? Over.” The radio crackled. Lieutenant James McGuinness grabbed his shoulder-mounted mic and spoke softly into it. “Approaching extraction point Bravo. Two klicks out.”
Krospgnasker
Trees. Birds. Homes. Sticks and branches. Leaves and Mud. Home sweet home for our feathered friends. Keeping the unhatched offspring safe and sound before the reality of life is revealed to their new eyes.
Chloe
Is it time yet, to leave this nest? “I don’t know if I can fly.” said the baby bird.
For years I have imagined myself getting older surrounded by my grandchildren. I always thought of an empty nest.
teresa
I do remember just finishing this one moments ago..
But I do think that a nest is what we all need in life. Some place we could call our own.
Such as, a home.
Home is where the heart is.
“If home is where the heart is than my heart as lost a home!” Oh, Ronnie Radke, you humor me.
A birds nest is quite complex. It has many different twigs and the way the mother, and or father, bird places them intrigues me. It shows that man is not the only one who can make such master pieces. They have the advantage however. Their supply is growing all around them. We have to dig them out of the ground, hoping for the best.
the birds nest there and they’re very comfortable. I think. Why else would birds build them? Also they are very protective of the little birds. I’m making no sense. Do i have ADHD? Well, this is fun. Kind of. I like it! Nests are awesome. What if people made nests? Fun to think about. What if questions. I like them kind of. Unless they’re about bad things. Whoa my sixty seconds started over! Sixty seconds is one minute, right? Right. That’s cool. Nests. Well. They’re made of twigs and hair and sticks and things like that. Anything the birds can get their beaks on. I think almost all birds build nests, don’t they? Except penguins. Or certain types of penguins. Almost up. Bye! Time’s up.
Nesting — what mothers do. What, then, when the nest is empty? Guess we’ll find out!
Fly, babies, fly. But don’t forget to make your way back to the home nest once in a while.
A bird’s nest sitting on the limb of a tree precariously. That is what I hoped to see when I looked up but I couldn’t find a nest. I looked down at the helpless baby bird on the ground and tears came to my eyes as I too realized I was helpless as well.
My nest is my household. My mother’s knitted the nest with her love and care. Many people associate nests with birds and other animals that take random earth elements and twine it together but, I think of my mother’s hard work that she wound together to make a comfortable life.
Nestling in the nest, we shall rest before our next test.
In my little nest on the porch swing, I watched the sun set and wondered if, outside my cozy blanket and cup of tea, the sight would look the same.
nest
a bird lives in it. It’s usually made up of leaves and twigs…Is it leaves? Probably not. One time, my stepsister and I decided to make a nest. We gathered twigs, and mud. But when we put it up in the tree, it broke in half. After that, we had to bury a weeks worth of nest building. But at least we did it together.
My nest will be empty soon. All my children grown, flying the coop. It breaks my heart and excites me, all at the same time. What comes next? What does my life hold for me? Will I be the same person, or someone brand new? Have I done enough for the kidlings to leave the nest? I pray that it is so.
As I dream of long, blonde, easy, hair, I look out and see a birds nest. Mangled, tangled, with twigs, and warmth. I realize i don’t mind my hair.
Walking through the forest one summers day, Maria noticed a dishevelled looking nest laying on the path ahead of her. She rushed to the scene and crouched down to inspect the pile of twigs and sticks. It appeared that there were no casualties. She sighed a breath of relief.
Sitting in the nest the small creature writhed in pain. It was a dangerous place for such a new born creature. Once thought to be safe. The safe haven. The home. It was now empty. Except for the one small, forgotten, lost, and dying infant. Alone and destined for nothing but the end. This was it for the small creature. This was the end.
A nest is what birds call their home. It’s a place of safety and refuge. Birds scour the skies finding food for their young and return to their nest, their home. A nest is a lofty place where they watch the world from above.
A nest is what birds call their home. Their safety. Their refuge. It’s a place where they bond with their family and watch the world from above. Where they can be at peace with the world.
In the little steel nest lay three small boys, the barbed wire around them threatening to scrape against their exposed toes. They were all blond, though the heavy mud and brush threatened to tarnish the gold bouncing on their heads as the cold winds blew around the debris. One was clinging to what appeared to be the remains of a stuffed bear.
I reached over the wire to touch one boy on the shoulder. He didn’t move.
I once saw a nest in a tree
Didnt know how it got there
Didnt even see the birdie leave
Just saw two big eggs
White as snow sittin there
I couldnt help but stare
Wondering what it would be like
If my life was like that
i want to live in a nest, just like the free birds, and feel the freedon in my skin! it’s makes me happy
She found a small bird’s nest, lying on the ground just under the spreading birch. She immediately ran to it, and picked it up, shouting to her mother to come see what she had found.
I am back from the nest. Birds always..Well this brid always flys back to the nest. To nestle around in the space thae he was born. Where he learned to fly. where mother would feed him chewed up worms. and now the bird is free. the bird is empowerd. the bird has choice. and that bird chooses to stay close to the nest.
I nest within my sacred space,
the inner haven which shelters my soul.
I lay at rest in this holy place
giving birth to frail strength which will make me whole.
She flew down, her vibrant blue feathers ruffling in the breeze which warned of storm winds. She looked down and landed on her branch, her home. The twigs twirled in the air, the brown disheveled surface sticking every which way. She sat tall in her nest, and got ready to lay her first egg.
The nest hung in the exact place it always had. Life would emerge every year or so. New little creatures to fly high into the sky.
birds live in nests untill they turn old and grey then they go away to make there own nests people think it’s strange but hey we always fly away.
Look at them. The feather-brained. The flighty. Gathering twigs and twine. Making nests. Mere fledgelings themselves. Twittering and trumpeting their settling down. When all I want to do is to feel the flap and ferocity of wings, test the strength of my wingspan, and fly into an endless horizon.
the baby bird fell so quickly. down from it’s home. it fell like many birds do, but it didn’t catch itself. it just fell from it’s one environment. down. down from it’s home.
it is similar to a home, in fact noless than that. Some returnt to this place in night after hard days work of findin fod for thier family, some leave it for the life to come.Its the relevance that remains and not whether how many years/ time span you stayed there.
So maybe I’m not like the other eggs in the nest. My mother is pushing me to leave but it was warm and comfortable and just adequate. Like me. Like everything I wanted in life.
its for a bird, and its brown and soft. round. with lots of twigs and vines creating it. I want to live in it and hide. a family of birds live in my roof. I want a nest on top of a tree, on the highest branch so i can see everything and still be safe.
birds live in nests that’s there home but when they are old and grey they go away and start a new nest people say how weird but i say hey we are just like them always flying away.
I didn’t grow up in a nest but sometimes it feels like I did- a nest of full of hungry kids and disorganized parents trying their best to fend for them. The nest grew bigger when my little sister was born, exactly eight years after I was.
Nested loops and algorithms. Nests and swallows. Empty nests. Twigs, branches, mud and pebbles – hard work for a bird.
i once saw a birs nest fall from the tree and i ran to try and save it as i could see there was eggs in it i ran as fast and hard as i could i dove to catch it but i wasn’t fast enough the eggs fell with the nest and broke off the ground and i only thought of how fragile life is.
ik zou me graag nesten met een knappe man die lief en behulpzaam is.
Net zoals vogels zich nesten in hun nest, dit vind ik best wel gezellig eigenlijk. zeker als je als mens ook zo je eigen nestje kan hebben.
He looked down at the crunch beneath his feet. “Crap. No more nest for them.” He turned his head, and glanced half heartedly at the apartment he was to call home.
“Eagle One, this is Nest. What is your status? Over.” The radio crackled. Lieutenant James McGuinness grabbed his shoulder-mounted mic and spoke softly into it. “Approaching extraction point Bravo. Two klicks out.”
Trees. Birds. Homes. Sticks and branches. Leaves and Mud. Home sweet home for our feathered friends. Keeping the unhatched offspring safe and sound before the reality of life is revealed to their new eyes.
Is it time yet, to leave this nest? “I don’t know if I can fly.” said the baby bird.
For years I have imagined myself getting older surrounded by my grandchildren. I always thought of an empty nest.
I do remember just finishing this one moments ago..
But I do think that a nest is what we all need in life. Some place we could call our own.
Such as, a home.
Home is where the heart is.
“If home is where the heart is than my heart as lost a home!” Oh, Ronnie Radke, you humor me.
A birds nest is quite complex. It has many different twigs and the way the mother, and or father, bird places them intrigues me. It shows that man is not the only one who can make such master pieces. They have the advantage however. Their supply is growing all around them. We have to dig them out of the ground, hoping for the best.