The whispered eternity layers itself around the nest like shy stars. Golden grain seeks refuge beneath clipped feathered shadows... Electric pulses forging paths in the nocturnes of industrious hen kingdoms.
How does one articulate the silent language of squawks and beak-taps against the arcane rhythms of the ageless? Succinct pulses of life unyielding to time's straightforward narrative; they pray in rustling chorus. Isolation, stark solitude, and cosmic appointments shared by choirs of beaks yet unknown...
The primordial egg waiting yet never revealed; rhythmic destinies enshrined in shell rather than genesis. Here the earth nests unlikely guardians, echoes of joyous massacre anticipated or shunned—all laid bare in the chicken moment.
Fate, they say, rarely contours valley laughter; instead, it charts skyward feathery mime. Altitudes of earthlings narrate scandalous ballads beyond the breathing time love cookies, love hands, and ectoplasmic fists.
So they sing—a hen constellation clawing viridian skies marred upon inevitability's cosmic ledger. Destiny shared like grain across dissolute haylofts... Eager lovers beneath tranquil stars betray fleeting flickers of elation in eternal moments.