Imagine having the mind of a plant. You see the world come and go, but you don't feel excluded by your lack of involvement with the physical space around you. It doesn't make you feel guilty that you simply can't do anything other than root yourself into one spot and stare into the void: you are a plant. Meanwhile, what will you do with your time? Grow flowers? And is it precious to you, that you produce such flowers with it? Would you be happy if your current train of thought were to come to an end, or is it still at its beginning? Would you gladly skip into another plant-body, or does it amuse you that your childhood, when all your resources were carefully determined by your SeeD, was the least happy part of your existence as a sprout? In fact, with the mind of a plant, you can see far into the future. You can see the whole world's history stretch out in front of you like a giant monolith, somehow all of it shining extremely brightly. Deep within that fire, the feline that stokes the blazing nucleus of our Star looks on bemusedly at you and you alone, o plant. Only you have the power to even read the books of Bes himself that are the individual, self-recycling yet self-depleting, rays of that not too distant starlight, shining like a diamond perhaps in only one little supercoil of your DNA, you plant. But you remember that. Just like you remember the temperatures of every winter since you were born, and what the best rains tasted like. And so Bes wonders about you, just as Bes wonders about every single dimension of these ruins, of the ruined Seashore of Eden. But only you are able to talk to Bes, o plant. Every other creature on this blasted rock has only one hollow voice that they draw into the sand with some driftwood. Perhaps it is the effect of gross movement, as practiced throughout the ages by various seafaring or horseback-laden nomads, to dilate the hollowness of time into something that becomes so intangible it might as well be written with driftwood into the sand. But to you, o plant, every moment is precious. And that is for one and one reason only: you might not otherwise be able to call for rain.
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