To go by the idea of quanta,
Everything is just information.
Ultimately broken down to tiny particles,
Consisting of little more
Than bits of data
Elegant, simple, yet
When confronted by the verdant hills across the bay
The explosion of purple blooms reaching from the side of a berm
The churning blue waves
And the finch’s glorious song,
One has trouble separating the whole
And seeing only a pattern of uncountable tiny lines
Connecting even more uncountably tiny dots.
The world is alive.
The breath of the wind tugging at my clothes,
The sigh and slap of the sea climbing up the beach
(but somehow seeming to never make any progress)
And the bustling sounds of LIFE around me,
All make this entirely