The eggs that are hatching in my garden now are the Pipevine Swallowtail butterfly larva. But for many years I had chickens behind the studio. And I’ve always been a bit enthralled, especially in spring with the way nature reproduces itself with the wonder of eggs and nests. My own wonder has led to incompetent to efforts to make nest-like constructions in my art. I suppose this one is the spring 2019 version, “hatched” in my Muse Group last month.
hanging on by tendrils
threads woven of plant fiber
married with that animal matter of fertility
eggs colored pastel in dyes for the season
warming under feathered bodies before their big break.
mine are remembered each year in flat painted form
they have no smell, no thickness even,
but they will never crack
frozen in memory, always perfectly as they were/are
reminders of tadpole hunting in ponds
with little boys two decades ago
Ah, over two decades ago I haunted ponds in Tilden Park with two little boys who loaned me their wide open eyes each new day. Pollywogs and chrysalids came home with us from those expeditions, and frogs sang to us at night from our small backyard pond on Albany hill.