Trying to sort out the thoughts with these plumes, they are so brilliantly magnificent that even their randomness on the dinning room table until we sort them out is a fixation. Individually they are imperfectly beautiful. Makes me wonder of the infinite spectrum of beauty whereas a textbook beauty has its limits. Has legitimacy with all specimens, each of us imperfect yet complete in our own way. We’ll all get there in our own timing won’t we now?
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