Eight Years: Expectation.

There it is:...

...the future sits inside.

 I had no idea how much I could miss a thing.

How my eyes would long to see such again.

 The new young peach tree grows beside the future site,

soon to be denuded of all sense of greenery

by etching.

The door stands propped ajar:

the entrance.

Air blows in

to effortlessly ease the mother

as she rests upon the existence of our excitement.

The window my Farmer put in at the base of the building:

the exit of the future earnings of eight years of waiting.

 When we moved here eight years ago,

I had no idea it would be this long til I would see them again.

 A dozen tiny embryos,

ovular entities encased in crystalline calcium carbonate.

A generous neighbor bestowed them...

and the broody matron that sits.

The eggsistence

of 

elaborate farming elegance:

the energy of eruption 

now erased

with the enthusiastic endearing of extreme embracement

in the down-mattress engulfment of motherhood.

Expectation.

Shhhhh.

Let's leave her.

She is sitting on the stuff of hopes and dreams.

Linking up to the Exciting and Enthusiastic:

Jennymatlock: The Letter E.
Theprairiehomestead.com