The ground is soft, gently swaying grass on an invisible soil covered underneath. I tug at a dandelion, accidentally pulling up a blade of clover in my fingers, and twiddle it, looking at the brown soil. A squirrel just a few steps from me hops two little steps and suddenly glances up, around, and runs off, as I see its grey, fluffy tail disappear into a large, round bush.

Even though I’m not physically tired, I want to lie back, holding the dandelion up to the pale blue sky. The sunrays blind my eyes. I blink, close my eyelids, and turn on my side to avoid the glare.

What am I doing here? I sit up and shake my head, as the wind rustles dark-yellow leaves falling off branches. They float toward me, but don’t quite make it.

I reach out despite my reluctance to move and touch the stem of a leaf, pulling it closer until it rests on the ground, solemnly before me.

The grooves on the back of the leaf form a defined V-pattern as found in all nature. What are you doing here? Are you trying to tell me something?

I chuck the leaf back at the tree where it should belong, but due to its large body mass, it flaps like a large piece of flappy paper a child miserably failed to throw, and falls only a bit farther than it was in my hands.

Whatever. I’m too lazy to move it anyway. So there’s me with a leaf, sitting cross-legged next to a tree, in the middle of an opening surrounded by foliage in forest daylight. What if I could just stay like this forever, waiting? But no, I must get going with my life. I push against the ground and get up, look around, and walk through the nettles. My bare legs sting a bit, but I can’t stay here forever.