Once upon a time there was an egg.

A large egg.

A late egg.

From which hatched the ugliest duck of the bunch

but by the end,

the prettiest swan of the bevy.

We know the story

of identity

of transformation

of beauty

but what of the mother,

what of her story?

 

A young swan of neither beauty nor grace,

an outcast with one lone egg.

Alone.

Rejected.

What was she to do with a wee cygnet?

How could she love him when she did not love herself?

Torn,

her trembling beak nudges her baby,

her ugly duckling,

into the nest of another.

She waddles away,

neck hanging,

eyes glassy,

but lingers nearby,

just over the paling,

hidden.

She dares not approach.

 

Weeks pass.

So does spring.

The sportsmen arrive.

Two bloody geese lay beside her baby,

her ugly duckling,

and dogs pound and roar.

She rises urgently,

wings beating,

flashes of brilliant white in the green moor.

The men turn and shoot.

The gun goes

POP

POP

and her baby disappears safely into the brush.

 

Weeks pass.

So does summer.

She is alone.

Upon a lonesome perch she spies her baby,

her ugly duckling,

frozen and helpless in the glass lake.

She rises urgently,

wings beating,

flashes of brilliant white in the green moor.

A peasant follows

and with his wooden shoe

the ice goes

CRACK
CRACK

and her baby is carried home.

 

Weeks pass.

So does autumn.

He is not gone long.

She finds her baby,

her ugly ducking,

hungry and exhausted in the storm.

She rises urgently,

wings beating,

flashes of brilliant white in the green moor.

Grass and algae pile beside him

and with a loving nudge

she goes

COU
COU

and her baby awakes to food.

 

Weeks pass.

So does winter.

He has finally grown into his feathers.

Her heart bursts with pride for her baby,

her ugly duckling,

her beautiful swan.

She rises urgently,

wings beating,

flashes of brilliant white in the green moor.

He has finally learned to love himself,

as he never knew she did.

 

And she flies away.