I’ve always been fond of things inside other things—smoky quartz crystals inside the plain exterior of geodes, a ruby burst of pomegranate seeds inside the rough old skin, the ballerina and the little mirrors in the music box, fragile blue eggs in a wren’s nest in the alcove for our washer and dryer, paper flowers in clam shells floating open when immersed in a water glass, piñon nuts in those hard seeds in sticky pods in fragrant trees in deep red canyons . . . nested Russian dolls, chocolate-covered cherries.
There are openings in our lives
of which we know nothing.Through them
the belled herds travel at will,
long-legged and thirsty, covered with foreign dust.(Jane Hirshfield, from “The Envoy”)
image: Christie B. Cochrell, Lindisfarne Priory