In one small part of the world (a world), there are trees, streams, birds, bugs, flowers, grass and underbrush, and no people. Because there are no people to label and classify these things, they do not mark the boundaries of their shapes. To say that there are trees and streams and birds describes this place as a person would see it, and not as it is. In this place, at any moment the birds are the flowers, the streams are the trees. They pass through each other’s forms, as much as they have them, as easily as space through space. The animals leave no footprints on solid but compliant ground. Everything has its part, but each separate part merges into the others with pronounced ease. Human eyes, craving order, draw exact outlines of the forms. The consequence is just as beautiful, but too comprehensible to make the same sense it once did.