[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 . . .”
