So many comprehension is impossible.
Slowly, tenativly, the watcher reaches out, fingers brushing against the mass; clear tones ringing at the disturbance.
One rings differently and the hand hesitates as the ear strains to catch the whisper sound.
A decision is made and deft fingers catch hold the thread. Holding it gently, feeling its steady pulse.
Carefully, the thread is pulled from the tangle-mass. It resists, and the throbbing pulse increases.
But the fingers continue to pull. And so a single thread, deep blue in color, hangs free from the the others.
Quickly, before it realize's it's alone, the thread is set against the great loom.
And with consumate care, a new soul is woven into life's tapestry.
Somewhere, the cry of a newborn breaks through the stillness.
Questions and comments are welcome and may be directed to bradac at alaska dot net