very small leaves

I like my eggs cooked over-easy, but I don't cook them that way. I always end up making scrambled eggs. Whether this is because I enjoy watching the yolk spill out from its membrane and combine with the whites or because I am a little afraid to try cooking something new, I'm not sure. They always end up scrambled.

Three is more than enough. I stood at the stove, barefoot and in my pajamas, gently cracking open the shells on the side of a dish. Sometimes the sound the shell makes when it finally gives makes me feel a little sad inside, the wet crunch and crack as the sides are separated and the contents slip out of their fragile home and into the bowl. Some of the shell always ends up in there and I have to stick my finger in to chase it up the side - it never seems to work with the fork, always slipping back away from the instrument.

One left to go. It felt heavy in my hand. I tapped it on the bowl and started to peel it apart, and small speckles of black fell on top of the eggs waiting in the dish. You never expect that when you're getting ready to make some scrambled eggs. I tried to keep the egg together and brought it close to my face. It was dirt. Just dirt there, in the egg, filling the white abscess of shell.

So I watered it. I put it in the sun near my desk. I didn't expect anything at all.