Conditional Reality

We found pieces of the sky floating in the river. Great sheets of blue material, as thin as paper. We snagged them with hooks and pulled them up on the riverbank. They felt like leather. They were so tough none of us could tear them. We looked up. We saw no holes in the sky but an old-timer told us such a thing had happened years ago. The mountains upstream scraped across the sky and tore off pieces that floated down the river. What did you do? we asked. Nothing, said the elder. The sky heals itself. Didn’t you know?