and hold them in your hands. They’ll not fit
back the same again. A snake can’t
crawl back into his old skin. A butterfly
does not hide inside her cocoon. You can’t

reattach the branch you’ve pruned. The golden,
crimson leaves won't hitch back to the trees
once they've fallen. But they’ll grow new as skies
turn blue. Not the same, but just as beautiful. Take these

broken pieces and build a mosaic. Let all that see
the light reflected. The blues sapphires. The reds
rubies. The greens emeralds. A kaleidoscope of
broken glass turns into an eagle flying over the

horizon. All this from scattered chips
lying on the ground. And in the hands of
a man that found them to be beautiful. And so,
they were! And even more beautiful than before!