Monday, 5 May 2014

Eggs of the year.

I wasn’t sure about this a week back, but now I am…

I live in this house, so do my family, sometimes, a couple of cats and some dormice if you include the walls in your definition of house.

Oh, and in the summer lizards, frogs and butterflies tend to wander in, but I try to move them on.

Outside the house, up against the window door is an egg.

A big egg.

An egg that looks like a stone.

An eggstone with legends written on it in black paint.

The egg has been home to wasps, but is a permanent home to a wooden engraved sword.

The ensemble thus becomes the sword in the stone, or eggscalibur as it was known in the local village some years back.

Today it is home to a pair of nesting blue-tits – they are coming and going as I sit here at the desk writing about them.

Sometimes they rest a moment on the hilt of the sword, a heart, before dropping through the crack of the egg through which the sword could be pulled out if you were a king or queen.

There will be eggs in the egg.

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