How to survive the odds as...
a leaf floats along a rivulet, and on that leaf, an insect, tiny core of clenched virtues, made base, unwitting victim of peradventure meddlings, foolish zest or to emulate itself in face of the inscrupolous ordinariness of tried path and behaviour. and it knows that soon somewhere out there the carrier will be trapped amidst the growth of the bank, or sink into the murky water, smothering in the fumes of rotting green, and it knows too that at each stage he may as well fly off, no hostage to any quagmire, decreed against a sentence anytime. that it sails up the blind watercourse to its terminus, wherever this one may lead, shrugging off the weight of atlas, while it lifts its body on its glassy wings, upon which the sun sparkles in flashy percussions of delight, to the breezy air that once broke off that leaf from a stalwart tree...