It's that time of year

 When paper and sun meet at the intersection of "happy."  

A dream of a swan

and the first time I tasted fried eggs in Amsterdam as dinner.  An image links memory & dream.  No small feat.  Much like a few words for a sentence.  A few ingredients enliven last night dinner's leftovers.  Isn't possession, unruly?

The word which doesn't come to mind

Modesty.  Modesty in flowers especially fried egg poppies.  Here the petals are shading the spent. If we had the life-force & innate intelligence of flowers, would we need our 26-word alphabet?Would we need spoons & knives in addition to our roots?