Fragile

A glass jar is given much care for fear of it being broken, for it is fragile. It could be dropped, and more likely than not the gravity and the hard surface would prove too much for its structure, and it would shatter, or reveal a crack at the least. What if you take that jar out onto a sandy beach—its natural setting—where indeed it was first realized by the industrious; would you there worry for its well being? Probably only insofar as the liquid it contained was valued. Take a jar into the forest, not necessarily its birthplace, but still not so fragile. Here in the wildnerness, where landing on a root would most likely repel rather than strike hard; the subsequent landing would be onto a soft bed of decaying leaf litter. Only with human intention, could nature be turned hard enough for the thrown jar to shatter. Save this, the glass jar is thus far resilient, fragile not proving a fitting adjective. No, it is the hard surfaces of human creation that turn the jar into a fragile item, along with the harshness of meaningless long distant transport. It is these human artifices where any nurturing web of nature is cut through, or cleared away, in favor of cold-hard clarity. So if the expense to the jar is fragility, what then is the expense to humans?

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