Good Grief 221

The light spilt out of the sky on a day when one of those strange moments occur; where the lifelong constructs flowed from one moment to the next, to the next. All those previously almost imperceptible parallel universes of rigidity flowed more clearly from one to the other and the neural links were briefly lit like kintsugi, showing the golden pathway that linked them to the whole. And in a moment of completion, the pot presented itself and it's golden cracks and said, 'this is me'.

It only took minutes ....