Round and round and round we go, where we come out, nobody knows.

The symbol of people’s hopes and dreams ripples in the slight breeze.

Red juicy bundles of sun and dirt and sweet tartness.

Delicate pale transient beauty, so fleeting, so pure.

The equation are made beautiful in the multi-hued patterns of the world.

Sometimes, the exhilaration stems from the sheer headlong rush into the mysterious unknown.

The barest brush of butterfly feet gives evidence of its passage.

Snuggled into familiar warm blankets.  It’s the simple things in life that make a perfect Saturday morning.

Because, as the human race, we are all racing towards each other.

Is the search more important, or the finding?