And the man with the battle-bruised segmental fracture fists turned to the cylindrical tree And asked, “As you are a wise tree of such a unique shape, I must know if I am the self of tomorrow’s past or the momentary projection of a conscious spirit swimming in a perceptual slew of today’s virtues?” The tree shed a leaf and observed a drop of rain, now multiplying. “What difference does it make? Your existence in this interchanging moment is undeniable, when all else, consequently, is.” The tree paused and saw a ray of electric energy pierce a nearby farmhouse, setting fire to its mahogany foundation- “We serve witness to a recurring pattern of chaos, always singularly consistent in form while simultaneously imploding within itself against a vacuum.” The man walked home and thought on this until the wrinkled hands of tomorrow drowned this form towards oblivion. -