The rainbow colours of a drop of oil in a puddle on the wet asphalt puts your finely discriminated introspections to shame. It is so unemphatically itself, this tiny event in the chaotic transitions of substance through the skin of the earth. It is parsed by the light of the sky as nothing but itself but in that moment it is made known in a beauty utterly without a heart, without any desire, forever immune from the pathetic fallacy. To dry up, to be washed away, to soon fall out of the light and go their way in other faceless interactions, the molecules that brood upon the water, now spread-out with most delicate links in a microscopic layer, will never again be visible, and even now few remark them. The human world is all pathetic fallacy, little else, and the molecules that make this thought, by oxidising or reducing, by shuffling some ions about in the dark chambers of the brain are behaving no differently. Where one lot spreads and makes a rainbow the other lot infuses and makes an identification, an emotion, a drive, but they happen, they happen to happen, in just the same way.