As its name suggested, the travelers’ next stop was a burrow beneath a lone sycamore tree. No one knew who - or what - had planted that tree in the middle of an otherwise featureless grassland. No one knew who - or what - sustained it against the battering storms and long seasons of drought that afflicted the lee. But it had clearly grown there for countless generations, its many trunks and branches reaching up like bone-white claws to grasp the crystal blue sky above.
“‘Lo, pilgrims!” shouted a little voice as Master John limped towards the sycamore’s base. “Come, come! This way!”
On the cat’s back, Timothy peered down into the underbrush in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the speaker. Whoever it was, however, was well camouflaged and therefore lost to his sight —
— until, that is, they stepped through a door and started descending a tunnel in the soil. At that moment, an elderly pygmy mouse finally revealed himself by throwing off his cloak and lighting a torch. “This way,” he continued to mutter. “I have medicines this way.”
“In my observation, there are two general ways of looking at the world,” declared Master John as he carried Timothy over a footbridge in the salmon morning light. “One way focuses on the whole picture — and the motion of all things. The other sees the details by breaking things down into their component pieces. The first way is concerned with the particular and changing; the other, the abstract and the fixed.”
Atop Master John, Timothy fiddled with his whiskers. “Okay. I don’t know if I understand, but please continue.”
“If it weren’t for our ability to see the flux of the universe, we’d more than likely get hit by a peddler’s cart on Market Lane before too long. And if it weren’t for our ability to recognize wholes, we’d find ourselves adrift in a perplexing sea of unrecognizable objects of unintelligible significance. We might, for example, confuse a well pump for a living being.”
“How strange!”
-At Home, Week 10-
“Tony?”
At first, Tony didn’t respond to the sound of Pepper’s voice. It just didn’t seem worth the effort. Honestly, he didn’t have the energy to do anything but lie supine, still pajama-clad, and watch a thumb-sized house spider scuttle back and forth across the ceiling.
“It’s almost eleven. You’re going to miss your appointment with the physical therapist.”
“Don’t think I’m up to it, Pep.”
The bed sank beside Tony, but he kept his gaze focused on ol’ Charlotte, who paused in her spiderly perambulations as if she knew she was being watched.
“You missed your other appointments this week too,” Pepper pointed out, brushing a few greasy locks off Tony’s forehead.
“I know.”
Pepper didn’t add that Tony had barely moved from this spot since Monday. She probably didn’t want to nag, bless her. But Tony almost wished she would give him just one hard kick in the ass. He was tired of smelling his own unwashed funk. And he was tired of feeling like such a burden.
Two weeks prior, Dr. Craig had finally cleared Tony for some lightly strenuous activities beyond toileting and getting dressed. Alas, Tony’s motivation continued its downward slide.
His dicked-up brain chemistry was playing hell with his emotional state. Tony knew that. Fuck, he even knew what he had to do to dig himself out of that double-damned hole. But Dr. Nolan’s leather-bound reflection journal still sat untouched on the nightstand, another task left undone. Another thing torturing his conscience.
