A 6' perspex egg rests on the river bed. The exploration hatch is open. Dig into the shale and mud, down into history, the sudden mist on Dartmoor, London's neon. Within the secret, the river carries alchemy, an iron sword, pottery scratched with words. I bought a 2" plastic egg from one of those vending machines, threw away the novelty toys, and put inside everything I wanted to say. I tied it to a helium party balloon, a bargain from a street trader. On the coast, when the wind blustered out to sea, I let it go