The Phoenix's Three Eggs

Once, in a nest of warm ash and feather-soft cotton, a Phoenix laid three golden eggs.

She looked at them. They glowed like tiny suns.

"What shall I do with three golden eggs?" she wondered.

She thought for a long time. The wind blew. The stars came out. And by morning, the Phoenix knew.

She picked up the first egg. It was warm in her wing.

"This one," she said, "is for today."

She used it to buy seeds, and berries, and a little song from a passing wren. The egg became food. The egg became music. The egg became a happy Tuesday.

She picked up the second egg. It was warm in her wing.

"This one," she said, "is for tomorrow."

She tucked it deep into the ash, where it would stay safe and warm. She did not eat it. She did not spend it. She let it rest.

And every day, just a little, it grew warmer and brighter.

She picked up the third egg. It was warm in her wing.

"This one," she said, "is for someone else."

She flew it to a small bird whose nest had blown away in the storm. She placed it gently in the new nest she helped build. The little bird looked up — and for just a moment, the Phoenix saw the whole sky reflected in their eyes.

When she came home, the Phoenix had no eggs left in her wings.

But her belly was full.
Her nest was warm.
And somewhere out in the world, a little bird was no longer cold.

That night, the Phoenix smiled in her sleep.

And in the morning, she laid three more.