every circle has a center...every ripple has a beginning.

it turned...and turned...and turned again. he sat--just watching its smooth rotation. he could have run his fingers gently along the edge of the blade, and been completely satisfied. because it worked. he could see it working.
the dark silver disc glared in the red sunset. in the center of the glare, the disc braced itself between the bolts and washers that allowed it to remain seemingly suspended above Life itself.

on one side of the blade is where he sat on an old log...with bits of bark still chipping off. the hum of the machine was a lullaby--he started to drift. the colour of the glare changed with the sky. looking from sky to machine to sky, he moved from sitting on the log, to leaning against it.. just watching the center of the sky, and the center of the blade.
after he fell asleep, head propped against the log, the machine stopped working. the blade stopped turning. and now, the glare was gone.

he woke up a few minutes later in the evening twilight, and ran to the dark silver disc. the bolts and washers were all in place, the power was on, and the hum had evaporated into the chirping of the evening's cricket chorus. he stumbled back toward the house..
what he couldn't see was that on the other side of the blade was the gear--the gear that turned the blade. that made it work. he looked at the center of the disc to find the problem...when he should have been looking at the gears behind the blade. it wasn't the disc that was broken--nor the center pieces--but the gear tucked to the back of the machine, that a passer-by wouldn't bother to notice.

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the important part isn't the center of the ripple....or even the ripple itself...it's the Life behind it. the thing that started it all...the hand that reached into the water, and brought the circles to life.



smear time with Life...not Life with time..