The Nest

Most mornings, I beat the sun. Birds sound their alarms as I await the chirps of my little peeps. I rush to get myself together before their songs turn to screams. I sweep them up out of their night time nests. We reunite in slumber. I hover over them with my own morning melody, burying myself in their little bodies stealing their scents. I breathe them. Then... I gag. Charlie and her nest are covered in poop. Swiftly, I soar off to work.