“Beautiful. Isn’t it?” Tin Tin spoke of his beloved river forest, the one he even claims to have been conceived in (!). He pointed upwards from his position. “One of many merged tree types here. I need to make a count of them; survey the woods.” Perhaps you could help me, Young Ruby, he thought silently to himself. Might we possibly make a Tin Tin II here (hehe)??
Ruby certainly liked the trees but didn’t think Tin Tin’s self named Glinda measured up as a whole to the Rubi Woods. Not even close. No leafy grass for one thing. No mysterious inundations all over the place for another. No, this is not worth an intense study if you asked her at this present moment. And then there was the problem of what lies all around it. This was a hole, a void, in the center of a cacophonic symphony of energy. But, true, it *was* energy, she thought. Unlike the old continents now. Our Second Lyfe is certainly not what it use to be. And she can now point to a particular date: July 1, 2009. Working on 10 years ago. Utopia and the resulting chaos-freedom split asunder. Apples in one basket, oranges in another. Or perhaps lemons and limes in this case. These fruit cases, umm…
“Let’s go back to my spot on the river,” Tin Tin shouts up, snapping Ruby out of her reverie. “Have a picnic or something.” But Ruby argued they should return to her — *their* house in the democratic empire. “It’s all very close,” she then compromised. “We can come back most any time.”
And talk about and work on that Tin Tin II, he machinated inwardly. Pleasant images indeed.
Here they are walking past The Spot. Tin Tin glances down, wondering if Ruby might change her mind about that picnic. But too soon, he then decided, and walks without talk for a while.
Sunklands 