This is my art today. This lovely wee egg that is less egg-shape and more just a nice ellipse.

ellipse |iˈlips|

noun

a regular oval shape, traced by a point moving in a plane so that the sum of its distances from two other points (the foci) is constant, or resulting when a cone is cut by an oblique plane that does not intersect the base.

Okay, so the definition isn’t very charming, but eggs sure are, as are chickens. At least from my perspective.

Now of all the chickens that run around this place, only one is a layer. A tiny bantam hen, and I’m not kidding–her entire body is probably no larger than six of these eggs she lays. The rooster who watches over her must be six times her size. Nevertheless, I’d rather mess with the rooster than cross a Bantam hen.

I wonder if there’s a connection to the boxing term “bantam weight”.

Granted, my wheat heritage is based in Montana, and my recent travels through wheat country were in Washington, but the colors and the vistas are so identical and my deep response, the way my heart resonants at the scene, wheat has got to be in my blood.

The thing I cannot figure out though, is after all that time as a child, playing in the wheat, eating raw wheat kernels, how can it be now that I am so allergic to wheat? Shouldn’t I have some lovely symbiotic relationship instead? …