The tasty warm inside of my egg - warm and full of feeling. It wants to sing out, "Rest with me. It will be okay." The shell getting cracked gently, oh so gently. The warm inside overflowing - it wants to flow like a great river. No, it's not quiet in there. It's not a quiet little soft boiled egg. Once the warmth has been tapped everything changes. Rivers start to flow, movement everywhere. There is no controlling it. Out it pours. The warmth envelops me and makes my ears tingle. I am alert. I see things clearly. It doesn't last long. I go back to my shell - into my stupor.
There is red paprika all over our yellow yolks. Red and yellow - bright and brassy - a great combination. It provides a high contrast. I made my screen saver at work yellow - bright canary yellow and then choose the scrolling marquee. "What words would I use?" I thought. Hamlet jumped into my mind. "To be or not to be." No that wouldn't do.
"Good night, sweet ladies, good night." Definitely a possibility.
"Now cracks a noble heart." That too.
"And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest." - Ah that's the one, I thought.
And that made me remember the stained glass window in Grace Church with angels dressed in multi-colored gorgeous Tiffany glass colors. They were going up and down Jacob's ladder. Those angels came to my mind when Nota, my sweet number two mother, died. She was a fashion plate always dressed so beautifully. Angels, I knew without a doubt, came to sing her to her rest. They were wearing silks and satins, brocades and all manner of finery.
