Today’s poem is based on suggestions from four peeps:
@dogpossum: “eggs, please. but not eating eggs. bird eggs. or turtle eggs. or curate's egg.”
@anti_kate: “on being "rich". Or not.”
@facelikethunder: “Quantum foam and VY Canis Majoris.”
@TheEndeavour: “praying for a taxi on a cold Melbourne night.”
You know that amazing footage we’ve all seen where the turtles lay a bazillion eggs in the sand, and then eventually all the babby turtles hatch and once and make a mad break for the ocean? Never ceases to astound me. I love how the beach looks like it’s come alive, with all those little flippers.
I can’t vouch for my understanding of quantum foam (knew I shouldn’t have majored in genetics), but I’ve done my best with what I could sort-of-kinda-like understand and morph into poetry.