31 October 2002 - 3:21 p.m. Dinosaurs are dancing around my family-tree in ballet slippers while the last blur of a sunset-cloud ignites with fickle hydrogen and oxygen atoms--a bright, watery explosion quieted by evaporation and godly rays of sunshine. The sun is an illuminated dandelion a minute away from nova--a molten-glass starfish about to evolve--the freeze-frame photograph of a drop of orange juice striking the surface of it's surrender. They move in predictably random ways: the molecules are perfect, microscopic flaws in an empty universe, until the temperature drops. Then: tsunami. A plant will face the sun. Photosynthesis mocks us as the only miracle. Carbon, hydrogen and oxygen are all you need. Mix them together the right way and call your reflection God--beg the mirror for forgiveness. A shrinking puddle is everything, the memory of splashing, bubbles, life,the space between thoughts. And I can't help but think that I've missed it. (0) Comments?