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