Blueth blankets our trees of life: protecting, nourishing, loving, and teaching–seasons shape our growth.
Atoms bond and repel and structure, bustling in a world unseen, yet analogous to each higher level.
Will balance be found? Is equilibrium fated? Can simplicity’s serenity exist within nimiety’s noise?
Tree on brick, if no one is on the sidewalk when you crumble, is a sound made? If the clay from which you are made is sans air pockets due to pugging of an efficient execution, then: maybe. If pugging in the floorboards is installed equally effectively, then: maybe. If your pieces fall on a passing animal afflicted with nasal congestion and piggy tail and potent dander–a pugging, then: yes.
Pugging a pug into pugging is a pugging of most serious consequence if it is not also a solecism, but life will find a way to turn a grey into a way, turning what one either cannot or will not see into that which stands as clear and bold and wise as a living tree. ; )