“I see you,” she said to the tree.
“And? What of it?” the tree replied.
“I see what you’re trying to do.”
The halo of leaves on the tree’s branches rustled. “The end does not need to be a surprise. There was never a promise that oblivion would be a shock.”
“It’s the art of the thing,” she said. “The principle of the thing.”
The tree shrugged its leaves again. “I’m a tree. I don’t really care about human art and principles.”
“Well, I suppose there is something to that.”