What is that, Mummy?
Three, by a drain, against the school building. The Oystercatcher has left them unguarded. They are speckled, blue and fragile. Little Boy touches. I say best not. He calls his friends, come and see the bird’s eggs! A knot of four year olds swarm the nest with their eager stomping feet. Don’t touch, says my little boy. The Mummy bird will come back. The bell rings, they stampede to the nursery door. ‘What will happen to the eggs?’ he asks me. The teacher says ‘There will be baby birds. And next year the mummy bird will come back and nest in the same silly place again.’
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