[I overheard this conversation Mother Nature was having with herself,
and I recorded it to the best of my ability.]
“I’ll just set these here . . .
So I won’t forget them.
I placed some in a different spot before,
but I forgot where.
I would imagine they’re still there,
wherever “there” is.
At least they ought to be,
or someone will have to answer to me.
But I don’t know where anymore,
which is why I’ll put these here.
This seems a good spot to me.
There’s no place that has any right
walking around being perfect.
What a dull idea.
I’ve never given my permission for that.
|"I'll just set these here . . ."|
This idea of perfection is overrated.
Things can’t be placed just anywhere,
especially perfect things.
They must be placed as imperfectly as possible.
That looks perfect to me.
It lights that area up just right.
Which reminds me of my sun . . .
Where did I put him?
I can’t remember for the life of me . . .
But at least the ice looks nice.
I don’t remember arranging it that way.
Those fairies are inclined to be a bit extravagant.
I don’t know where they get it from.
Now where was I?
Ah yes, that hill just over there . . .”