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Rated: E · Poetry · Children's · #2245722
A fun little game that me and my youngest son would play before bedtime, so long ago.
May sixteenth in the year two thousand and twelve, my son Garrett was almost four years old; when it was near his time to go to sleep, we would climb up into the loft bed like it was our nest in a tree. What was five feet for me was fifty feet for a boy and his enormous imagination.

Under the covers of the thick, warm quilt, he was the baby bird and I was his mamma bird. We would play that a big scary storm was approaching, I would turn on the big fan which would blow like a ferocious monster outside while we were snug and quite cozy inside our big bird nest.

Those times were the best as we laid down to rest, so long ago but I remember
that cute little scene in the big bird loft nest.
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