beautifulconundrum

There are few things we do. Except watch, that is, we observe and intervene when we can. It's a rather helpless existence really, with each day passing like a moment and some moments, an eternity. Many think it is a highly organized practice, to simply watch, guide and protect. It isn't. It's fate really and it's messy. Fate isn't a path made of cobblestones or brick. It isn't long or short, narrow or wide, it never starts and no one knows if it ends. It is rather a mess, a tangled web, a knotted web of tangled strings. In its entirety it is beautiful, with countless ties and tears, each strung and strum to a different tune.  It hums if one