...she builds her nest, laid her golden eggs, six golden eggs, the sevent an iron egg. She began to brood the eggs, to warm the top of the knee. she brooded one day, brooded a second, then brooded a third, too. Now because of that the mother of the water, mother of the water, virgin of the air, feels burning hot, her skin scorched; she thought her knee was burning, all her sinews melting. Suddenly she twitched her knee, made her limbs tremble; the eggs tumbled into the water, are sent into the waves of the sea; the eggs cracked to pieces, broke to bits. The eggs do not get into the ooze, the bits not get mixed up with the water. The bits were turned into fine things, the pieces into beautiful things: the lower half of one egg into the earth beneath, the top half of another egg into the heavens above. The top half of one yolk gets to glow like the sun, the top half of one white gets to gleam palely as the moon; any mottled things on an egg, those become stars in heaven, anything black on an egg, those indeed become clouds in the sky. From The Kalevala