The Beauty of An Egg

With my appetite sharp, I prepare to boil an egg for breakfast. Suddenly I am drawn to the singularity of its beauty – a smooth continuum of oneness, intact, complete, bald of all impediments, free of all existential demands and bothersome necessities. If Plato was right, every egg exists as “eggness” in that ideal world of his. Pure semantics at best. If nature’s right, feet were made to walk on solid ground, heads to rise on human shoulders, not clouds. As for the earthly egg, it comes from the rear of a chicken, not the mind of philosophers, though a byproduct of their lofty thinking often produces as much crap as a chicken’s rear. Best of all, an egg can be enjoyed here and now, not in some eternal hereafter and with minimal waiting: a four minute boil is as perfect as they ever get.