Egg Rustler

Writing

By the light of a gibbous moon I lift the silver latch on the freshly hewn gate. I follow the rain strewn path, up onto the wet grass, the water puddling around my boots as I walk purposely towards the coop, careful not to wake its inhabitants.

The door to the run is open as I step over the threshold and into the mud. Closing it behind me I creep into t…