I am a gnome lover and pun dabbler. I believe the patternless vibrations of society somehow have rhythm. I find meaning in the graffiti-splattered abandoned corners of our universe. Amongst the paint-chipped walls defining our modern day rebellious predilection. A vibrantly decorative yet remarkably raw form of expression. A magical paradox.
And it is in these overlooked, back-alleyways that I found my first gnome.
Well, first good gnomen at least.
Given that I am a proud self-proclaimed garden enthusiast and avid tree-listener, I find this fact almost ironic. But only almost. It is the subconscious present tense, colored with my urban predisposition and the artificial clutter of our world, that brought me to that very skreet, where the literal signs align with metaphorical ones.
Two roads diverged on that sunny day. I took the one less traveled.
And so it goes, the gnome girl (although then, just girl) wandered. Was on her way. Walked with purpose and without bounds. Did not know where she was going. Reckoned she might. The universe will be my guide, she thought. But of course, in the end, it was always the gnomes.