A moment
Otherwise commonplace
Then
The door swings open
And a word is unenthused - a welcome
"Rosaline" - It's Rosaline's father who is hanging by the back door, clad in a raincoat with palpable raindrops
He's holding something
Small, oval shaped
"It's an egg," he says "A duck egg"
Rose ventures closer, not believing him
She's fond of nature and herb remedies
She sees the gel-like substance, void of protective shell, a faint orange block bobbing ever so slightly inside
She topples to the floor in disbelief
Smiling, grinning, actually, at the discovering
She's also wary
It's fragile
We all come closer
Rose rests a fingertip on the squishy egg
She exclaims, "It's heartbeat. I can feel it's heartbeat."
Its heart is weak, but it's still miraculous to feel
How? Can someone excuse life when they feel it in their fingertips?
The duck inside will one day hatch, soon
I believe it will thrive despite the cold
It will grow, and chirp, and flounder
But it is life
We could not bear to see the elementary duckling die
Because once you've touched life
You long for nothing else