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The mind is a strange place, occupied with odd unruly ideas and ungovernable thoughts. I can think of no reason my mind should retain the white-on-white image of a pale, waxen hose coiled casually over an ivory-colored hook affixed to a milk-hued wall. No reason at all.

And yet there it is. There it is, mathematically asserting itself into my consciousness, a series of lackadaisically recurring loops, a model of sensuous self-similarity. Each loop of the hose is like every other loop—like, in fact, every loop of every coiled hose in the entire world. What we see here is the pallid echo of an organic shape ubiquitous in nature. Here is the coiled snake, here is the asymmetrical orbit of planets, here is the route of the roulette ball and the contracting pattern of flares leading to a coronal implosion. Here is the circuit your dog takes when patrolling the back yard. Here is the course of love.

But no—it’s just a white hose coiled around a white hook against a white wall. I’m not drawn to it by some primitive collective unconscious gravity. I’m drawn to it simply because it’s beautiful.

-- greg fallis

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