Prompt–Feb. 3, 2015

*In Keeping with trying to change up our prompts this week I chose one from the book 1,000 Awesome Writing Prompts by Ryan Andrew Kinder. This was offered one day as a free e-book that Meleesa brought to my attention and I downloaded it. It’s prompts are different and I have gone through and highlighted some I thought would work well for us. So this weeks was: “A bird is buiding a nest. Write from the perspective of the bird and the different things (include some odd human materials) it uses to build the nest.”* The four we choose were fun or different.



Hummer landed with his beak full of curly grey hair.

“Oh, Hummer, this will make our nest ideal, decorated in tones of grey—so gorgeous against your bright green throat.”

“Thank you, Hummerina! I agree with our color scheme this year and there’s a lot more of this on the ground there, a short distance away, he bobbed his head.

Hummer had sat as patient as a rock, and observed how one human sliced off the lustrous, soft material from another human’s head.

Hummerina was proud of her mate and showed her love for him by fluffing up her feathers as she thought, our cozy home sheltered in the  leafy filled tree was indeed a mansion.

She took her turn at gathering the downy fluffs of grey.

After their busy day they flew off to the ‘Red Sweet Bar’ for sustenance.

Kirsten Marie Wohlgemuth, author


My name is Sam, the Osprey, and my partner is Jean.  High above the Columbia River we spend our days hunting and gathering.  Nest building consumes our spring and even though it is in my DNA, I hate it!  I love my partner but nesting just is not my thing.  She is off to the local thrift stores gathering a piece of string, special leaf, or some shiny object.  For me, I’d rather suck raw fish than be caught at Good-Will.  I still do not understand my lady.

pat stone



Another season, another nest. Size is always the same. Location, location. location. Where will I be safe with my babies?

There seem to be so many humans around spying with cameras to document my progress. I see one that has left his lens cap cover. That cap might be heavy for my size beak, but I’m going to give it a try!

Landing on the ridge of the old mine shaft, my beak grabs the edge of the shiny plastic. My foot slips in the sand and starts a stream of of sand around the cap that floats it down into the black hole.

OK, plan B.

By Carol Christel Taylor


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