For only a second

I was five when Mrs. Drajic gave me an Ukrainian Easter egg. I lost it immediately and was devastated. This precious thing was mine for only three minutes. I know I appeared ungrateful, but the truth was that I placed it on a hedge to admire it. The waxy egg nested there for a second, its reds and blacks glowed in the April sunlight. It looked so exquisite that only a mythical bird of the rarest beauty could have claim to it. But then it sunk to the ground and neither me nor Mr. Drajic could ever find it again.