You are deep in a northern forest covenanting with spirits that lift into mist from an ancient tarn. They show you a treasure.
Buried in the rock-flour milled by a Pleistocene glacier, a duck egg fossilized black fits your sling perfectly. (It’s a dream; you have a sling!)
You spin and release, and the egg flies through the forest gleaming like a mystic gem. The erratic boulder it strikes, orphan of the glacier that mothered the fossil, hatches it.
Inside is an inch of secret life, intact, hibernating the silence of the unborn, sealed up from the ambition of the weasel for 11,000 years, hushed and helpless in the abortive Lilith dark – exposed for your eyes alone.
Bright moment!