The Scalloped Nest

A grey molded cardboard egg carton lay open in a wide stripe of morning sun across the kitchen counter. I took steady little waddles across the butcher block to inspect the two rows of hollow pockets. Tapping the rim with my bill, I found the pressed paper firm and warm. I hopped up onto the outer lip, balancing carefully along the scalloped central ridges before lowering myself into the corner cup. My round plush bun settled right into the curve like it was made to measure. Resting my orange beak over the divider, I sat basking in the sunbeams without any urge to budge.