Finding-Down Eggs

Sometimes it is just words, words that seem to float about in my head during my dreams. They are mostly said inside my head, a spoken thought, so to speak. Finding-down eggs was one of them. And it definitely wasn’t referring to the act of coming upon the eggs, ‘finding-down’ were a kind of egg. What kind of egg I cannot say. So evocative, so full of richness. I love this part of me, it is so free of rigidity, of fear, of fear of judgement. I wish I could remember more, but it is quite a thing to wake in the dark and struggle to write things down before they are lost. Equivalent was another word that hung around. Not sure why.

There is a blue sky after so many days of grey, overcast ones. Though the wind is wild. I remember our horses becoming skittish on windy days and galloping around the confines of their field, kicking up their hooves, tossing their manes and flicking their tails. I can see the white flashes on the waves on the sea.

I’ve much to do. And I’m hungry already. So much for oranges, eh? Coloured water, he says, coloured water.