I like eggs. There are so many ways to fix the things.
To scramble, boil, add to other foods, and to fry, just
for a small list.
My grandmother had quite a few chickens on the farm
in which she grew up, and when she got older, that was
the one thing that she yearned for was to have a small
stock of chickens out in the yard. Unfortunately, where
she lived it was not permitted, but she still dreamed
about the thought anyway.
It could have been that she really loved the chickens, and
or that it reminded her of an earlier time. We all like to
go back and think of those special moments in our
childhood.
There are all kinds of eggs, but the ones we generally think
about are the ones in the hen house. The ones that we buy
at the grocery store. The ones that come in all sizes. The ones
with the yellow yolks.
This is the time of the year when a different type of egg is
both bought and brought. The kind that is made and filled
with chocolate. To take it even a step further we are inclined to
go for the chocolate ones with the other types of filling inside.
I can vision my grandmother as a child heading out to the hen
house, to gather some eggs for breakfast. More than likely
there would be times when she might drop and break one. To
be more careful next time is what she learned.
We’re getting closer each day to the Sunday that the eggs will
change colors, as they would be dyed the night before. To hunt
in the grass, where the special one left them. To crack one open
and eat it, with a piece of candy too. Oh, for the good old days.
“Eggs cooked well-
Cracked open or still in the shell.”
Three by M.E./Rhymes of the Times 