While up at the Lake last week, it struck me as odd: those atoms have formed themselves into a medium of life that is a tree. And those atoms have formed into a medium of life that is moss. And so on and so forth, and some atoms ended up forming a medium of life that is me.
And it seemed like there should be a lounge somewhere, where atoms in between mediums would meet and take a load off. Some are smoking. There’s coffee/tea/hot chocolate.
“What’s your next assignment?”
“A dog. Welsh terrier.”
“Wish we could trade. I got grass again. I’m so frickin’ sick of plants.”
At one end of the lounge is a desk. Some very overworked bureaucrat atoms man the line, passing out the slips that tell the atoms where to go.
One lone atom picks up its new assignment, and hoots.