Of the words and images thrown at me this morning in the news, one item sticks in the foreground: apparently, some thirty-eight million chickens and hens are about to be slaughtered in the States, because of bird flu. Of these, thirty-three million are egg-layers.
The item sticks in mind because at the outdoor market, yesterday morning, someone gave me six eggs, and apologized. Five of them were laid the same morning, but one of them was all of twenty-four hours old. She has three chickens. In laying season, they produce more eggs than she use at home and in her catering business. Her chickens range and peck at will. In some instances, smaller is much, much better.
Meeting all morning. Then, work on what may be the two final scenes in the story. After which I’ll probably set it aside for a few days before tackling final read-throughs, corrections, synopsis, and so on.
Lunch: the matter’s already settled. Two soft-boiled eggs with fresh naturally-leavened bread.