we held secrets here. this nest, these four walls. thin enough to whisper through. tiny ones often construct through sticks and findings. down this trunk, through branches, from branch to branch in which we inhabited in different years. if you trace this back, study the markings, ones left by all here, if you look deep inside you can see them. you can feel them day to day. years pass, this nest deserted. removed or perhaps inhabited by others and all disperse, scatter like seeds on soil. and look again - roots withstanding that have seen them come and go, that entangle and connect from the smallest buried deep to those sprouting out, hands trace the history. through storms and stress, growth and giving, young sapling how we began, how we begin. if you listen closely you can hear life in this, breath and beating.