When is a line, not a line?
Trick question. It never is.

This beautifully polished agate looks grey, no organdy in color. It’s highly reflective surface captures the ripples of a pool of minerals over a million years ago. Parallel lines follow the curve of the specimen and then vanish to the other side, never touching. And yet, if I look at them through a magnifying lens, they aren’t so precise in their geometry after all. Each line is an assembly of grains that look more like a kindergarten class awaiting lunch than an army demonstrating military drills.

This isn’t a surprise because it is mankind that demands such precision. Nature gives us a vibrant dance of hues and textures to play with our imaginations. Nature gives us curves, waves, spheres. We take them and slice them into facets, cleave them to manufacture sharp lines. Where is the imagination in a line?

Sandwiched between the lovely lilac is a swirl of egg-shell white. It somersaults like balloons carried on the clouds of November.