PICK UP THE PIECES

Erratically we are of glass, brittle: breakable.

On occasion we may be clear, at that we can bend light to reveal a full spectrum.

At times we may take tints and be decorative, playful to the eyes as can be.
Every now and then we may be accidentally struck.

As soon as we are, we pick up the pieces of what once was. The shards, even minute splinters, cut us. Like most broken things, we try our best to glue it all back together but it will never be the same again. The cracks are permanent and there are bits missing, lost as shrapnel when the shattering occurred. We do this over and over, albeit not really conscious sometimes, and we are left battered.

But time and again, we will endure…

Until we get it right.

When each fragment is at its smallest, we are melted down and molded yet again.  

To begin anew. To become once more.

We correlate the repetitive process to “practice”.

Because similarly, it is in practice that we obtain dexterity; and it is in practice that we “make perfect”.