Light Hearting the Bauble

Fallen to the frail inside eggshells tap tap tap with a stream of liquid life ebbing brightly shining down the drain dried to paper width and still held round in palms lighter than a baby bird and more fragile. In time, this marvel will be painted opaque pearl. A hollow will be made a hinge a door delicately cut with precision ornate white velvet will cushion the inner chamber lining the lack of life with falsity and vanity. Gilded gold legs bowed and a metallic spherical point on the top of the orb and we see. There is the nesting place of our dreams. Faberge holds no flame to our Creator with clumsy fingers yet wrought with a perfection deemed so by imperfect eyes. While we can dress an egg in style we cannot reproduce the life once inside and we cannot begin to understand the simplest wonders once hidden from our eyes inside the paper shell.