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Contrary to what most believe, spending many years as a tree does not feel at all like you're being diluted across time itself, watching the lives of insignificant humans wash away like a fallen branch in a river. Not according to Minna, anyway. She would describe it more like a vague wash of time that you can observe if you like. It just might get tedious. It is more like a handful of sand being dropped into a still pond, where points in time are like grains of sand, and your reflection is still more or less visible. Making out individual grains is a lot of work, and following a grain as it drifts down and mingles with the other grains is near-impossible.
Anyway, even if you are able to make out individual grains of sand while they float down, the surface makes such a lovely mirror. And isn't water better suited to bathing than watching thousands of years pass? That sounds boring. Best wash off those dirt smudges I got yesterday, she thought.
You see, the arrow of time isn't as straightforward for vegetation. For them it's better described as a bowl. I'll let you think on how that one applies, is what Minna would say if you were to talk with her about this. Of course, this particular analogy is hogswash, but she'd like to see what kind of sense you make of it.
Then, with a more serious tone, she would say No, no. Time is not a bowl, that's bosh. It'd all fall out if it got tipped upside-down! Time is a 3-part cycle with many smaller stages. Then she'd wonder, Why am I having conversations with myself? I'm in a tree watching time drift downwards, not having an intellectual discussion. Time to take that bath.
Spending time as a tree is also cozy, like a pelt around your shoulders and a stew in your belly. It's familiar. Well, it is if you spend a lot of time doing it. The time-water is warm and sweet-smelling, like honey but without the same consistency. When it's daytime you can feel the sun's invigorating power, and when it's nighttime you get to curl up and conceptialise about how the stars might think. It is not all perfect, though. The time-grains get all caught up in your hairs and can be difficult to wash out, and winter leaves you largely drained of energy and lethargic.
PLOSH
A rock fell in the time-water. Or was it thrown? Okay. This is interesting, she thought to herself. She dived under the sandy and indistinct water and raked around the riverbed, in and through grains of the past, until... "A-ha!"
She swam to the surface and over to the pond bank. She hoisted herself onto that mossy cushion at the bank and she inspected the rock. Carved into it were the following words.
"HULLO IS ANYONE THERE?!? IF NOT CLAN MACCLATCH and friends CLAIMS THIS CASTLE AS THEIR OWN!"
"Oh."
She looked back to the pond to watch it shrink away as she returned to the present. What a shame. She stepped out of her tree, out into a bright world with vivid colours. She rubbed her bleary eyes. What was going on? Distant footfalls and voices. Weird.
The rock was gone.
Anyway, even if you are able to make out individual grains of sand while they float down, the surface makes such a lovely mirror. And isn't water better suited to bathing than watching thousands of years pass? That sounds boring. Best wash off those dirt smudges I got yesterday, she thought.
You see, the arrow of time isn't as straightforward for vegetation. For them it's better described as a bowl. I'll let you think on how that one applies, is what Minna would say if you were to talk with her about this. Of course, this particular analogy is hogswash, but she'd like to see what kind of sense you make of it.
Then, with a more serious tone, she would say No, no. Time is not a bowl, that's bosh. It'd all fall out if it got tipped upside-down! Time is a 3-part cycle with many smaller stages. Then she'd wonder, Why am I having conversations with myself? I'm in a tree watching time drift downwards, not having an intellectual discussion. Time to take that bath.
Spending time as a tree is also cozy, like a pelt around your shoulders and a stew in your belly. It's familiar. Well, it is if you spend a lot of time doing it. The time-water is warm and sweet-smelling, like honey but without the same consistency. When it's daytime you can feel the sun's invigorating power, and when it's nighttime you get to curl up and conceptialise about how the stars might think. It is not all perfect, though. The time-grains get all caught up in your hairs and can be difficult to wash out, and winter leaves you largely drained of energy and lethargic.
PLOSH
A rock fell in the time-water. Or was it thrown? Okay. This is interesting, she thought to herself. She dived under the sandy and indistinct water and raked around the riverbed, in and through grains of the past, until... "A-ha!"
She swam to the surface and over to the pond bank. She hoisted herself onto that mossy cushion at the bank and she inspected the rock. Carved into it were the following words.
"HULLO IS ANYONE THERE?!? IF NOT CLAN MACCLATCH and friends CLAIMS THIS CASTLE AS THEIR OWN!"
"Oh."
She looked back to the pond to watch it shrink away as she returned to the present. What a shame. She stepped out of her tree, out into a bright world with vivid colours. She rubbed her bleary eyes. What was going on? Distant footfalls and voices. Weird.
The rock was gone.