this morning
morning often reminds me of the smell of earth. (a treewithin. feet in soil, firmly gravitated towards)
8:15 am. wakened from an exhaustive dream, i boiled an egg, burned a toast. my body was still full of sleep so i held the boiled egg closely within my hand. i've a special fondness for eggs. i liked to paint on them when i was a kid. I learned to use a needle to poke tiny holes on both ends with care.(this small fragility weighing in my hand) always a wonder to watch an egg yolk dripping into a bowl. this slow outpouring, and waiting, for the forming of a marigold sun, or at times, a pale moon.
so here i was, this morning, carrying an egg in my pocket. its scent and warmth steadily came to my fingers. a life form laid still in my hand. i thought of how a nascent body came to a halt.
8:15 am. wakened from an exhaustive dream, i boiled an egg, burned a toast. my body was still full of sleep so i held the boiled egg closely within my hand. i've a special fondness for eggs. i liked to paint on them when i was a kid. I learned to use a needle to poke tiny holes on both ends with care.(this small fragility weighing in my hand) always a wonder to watch an egg yolk dripping into a bowl. this slow outpouring, and waiting, for the forming of a marigold sun, or at times, a pale moon.
so here i was, this morning, carrying an egg in my pocket. its scent and warmth steadily came to my fingers. a life form laid still in my hand. i thought of how a nascent body came to a halt.