Deep in the moss-draped hollows of an ancient forest, a cluster of pale, speckled eggs lay nestled in a bed of silver leaves. No creature had touched them in days, but the air buzzed with a quiet tension, as if the woods themselves were holding their breath. At dawn, as mist curled through the roots and the sky burned soft with gold, the first shell cracked with a sound like a whisper. Then another. Tiny claws emerged, glistening and trembling, followed by blinking eyes that held the wild shimmer of starlight. The hatchlings stretched their wings—fragile, translucent things that caught the sun—and let out small, echoing chirps that made the trees rustle in reply.
Hidden behind a veil of brambles, an old woman watched with a crooked smile. She had waited seasons for this moment, guarding the nest from predators, storms, and even her own doubts. The forest had chosen her long ago, and now it had kept its promise. These were not birds, nor lizards, nor anything written in books. They were something older. Something returning. As the hatchlings took their first trembling steps into the world, the forest seemed to shift, awakening with them—ancient magic, reborn on the breath of morning.
Deep in the moss-draped hollows of an ancient forest, a cluster of pale, speckled eggs lay nestled in a bed of silver leaves. No creature had touched them in days, but the air buzzed with a quiet tension, as if the woods themselves were holding their breath. At dawn, as mist curled through the roots and the sky burned soft with gold, the first shell cracked with a sound like a whisper. Then another. Tiny claws emerged, glistening and trembling, followed by blinking eyes that held the wild shimmer of starlight. The hatchlings stretched their wings—fragile, translucent things that caught the sun—and let out small, echoing chirps that made the trees rustle in reply.
Hidden behind a veil of brambles, an old woman watched with a crooked smile. She had waited seasons for this moment, guarding the nest from predators, storms, and even her own doubts. The forest had chosen her long ago, and now it had kept its promise. These were not birds, nor lizards, nor anything written in books. They were something older. Something returning. As the hatchlings took their first trembling steps into the world, the forest seemed to shift, awakening with them—ancient magic, reborn on the breath of morning.
36” x 36”
Mixed Media On Canvas
Artist: Katy Satchell
