Source

She is holding the little object between two cautious fingers like a secret only hers. The egg is light and brittle with its shell barely broken, and warm ensuring something unknown. The room is silent round her, the shaking jug, the basket of eggs, the green leaves in a shower of lost thoughts. The light sneakily slides over the floor, and it falls onto the dust and even silence.

At her feet, the dog waits. He stands on looking-on with patient devotion, ears open, body motionless, as though he knows that this is a time. The girl does not speak. Her hair is braid on her neck, her arms are turned down, and her stance is thoughtful and tender. She flips the egg, not to hear anything, but to feel life, to hear the silent lesson concealed within such an insignificant shape.

It is perhaps the thing that she fancies growing out of it -a bird, a song, movement where none existed. Or maybe she is getting to know something more, what to guard, what to wait, what to value that is easily destroyed. Her growing awareness is a witness to which the dog is introduced as the faithful and silent companion of the lesson.

It is the duet: no music, they simply pay attention to each other. The beginning of a child, an animal. Here, in this little, small, commonplace scene, it is patience that is practiced, it is gentleness that is learned and it is gentleness at its quiet work.

Thanks for reading my post I'm inviting @m-fdo, @chant and @bela90.