I find mad beauty in the way these structures make absolutely no sense.  In the past few weeks, the kids have fallen to Legos as the default heavy, with little monuments of meaningless rhythm and pattern scattered about the house.  Under beds.  Lodged in the couch.  Pieces all over the floor.  Like we live in a fallen city.  How many hours I have watched small fingers build with the deepest intentions, yet worry not about form or function.  Just gut and intuition.  Some days I cannot stop watching as their minds get into a deep groove of  attentiveness, abstraction, color.  A mating of architecture, machinery, and colors like bubble gum.  Cubism and Op Art.  I am awed by the intensity.  Then try to rationalize, was the choice based on color, shape, feel?  I guess, why does it matter?  At the end of the stretch they are emotionally and creatively spent, pieces strewn on the floor.  Someone has stepped on one and needs a band-aid.  Game over.  Till tomorrow.