PYSANKY

WHAT IT IS about 
this sort of folk art that touches my soul? 
I don't honestly know. 

I've lost track of which Spring it was 
that Mr. Bob accepted my suggestion that 
we go to a Russian Center in Hollywood 
to enroll in a class on decorating an egg 
in this fashion.

I remember little about the class. 
What I do recall is that it was traditional 
to start with a raw egg. 

I remember wax and a candle flame 
and a stylus.

I recollect that it was very serious business. 

No laughter.

I experienced an 
overwhelming sense of inadequacy.

There was only so much that an amateur could accomplish in an hour or two.

We carefully brought home our eggs....

pitiful little efforts they were.

Time went by 

and

one by one

our two eggs exploded.

THE END