Incorrigible, indeterminable, the stately constant walks alone: there are none to surmount her prevalence, none in whose company she may sit and chat and sip some tea. Of course, there was e, but e was a few worlds away at 2.71. She was truly by herself, a severe face of changelessness to poets and adventurers, a reassuring one of constancy to mathematicians and thinkers, a staid figure in an arena of labouring laws.

According to those loyal to her, however, the most beautiful of the daughters of Nature.

Pi. 3.14159…

Today is World Pi Approximation Day. It’s a day celebrating the value 22/7, which is as close as a crass fraction can get to beauty, a purveyor of simulacra, vile manufacturer of nostalgia, of polyurethane histories and plastic memories. Pi… cannot ever be fully understood, and isn’t meant to be. She walks in quiet grace, abandoning perfect arcs meandering in her wake, and it is there that mere mortals such as ourselves discover her shadow seeping into the infinite omnipotence.