The world seems to hold the world up, to support itself with twigs and leaves blown into place by the wind. I’ve never been much for hippie Rachel Carson thinking, but you can’t crush that kind of determination, that kind of will. We break something, and the world fixes it without us or our help.
That just seems to be how the world works. We are, at best, incidental.
I’m good with that.
Twigs of Genius.
