Empty Eyes

Everyone tried to look for their identities, while I do not even know who my mother was, or even my Maker, and I thought what would this life mean without us knowing about the one who constructed every tree, every leaf and made patterns for all the branches that hold those leaves, so that they would gather and make the wonderful, whispering rustle when the wind blows? I have always been enchanted by the trees, who raised their limbs both upward and downward, reaching every aspect of its life. I think that's how people should live as well. It seems ridiculous to me that one should divide art and science as if the two belonged to different worlds. They emerged from this very same world, from the very same Maker. They are one.