The genius is busy. She’s staring at a ragged alder leaf backlit by the setting sun. She sees its complex simplicity, fractals repeated in varying scale. The word scale invokes fish and symphonies. She hears salmon muscling upstream and tastes the cayenne of the xylophone amid the low vibration of cello and bass. She appears to be doing nothing, but only a brain at rest allows patterns to reveal themselves, the interface of world and mind its own sublimity. On the brink of unlocking music and waves, she is interrupted by people who want to pay her to achieve something. Oh, the time they force her to waste saying no, no, no. Published in Mithila Review