One of the workmen at my friend’s cottage last week had brought a dozen eggs from his wife’s henhouse. Being from different kinds and sizes of hens means the eggs all look different — greens, blues, pinks, oranges, whites.
They looked great in grandma’s old mixing bowl in the morning sun.
I moved a few months ago and it’s taken until this week to feel settled in enough to start mucking about in my new work area. Feels good.