The Cathedral of Trees

A forest is growing in the middle of a cathedral. The pews are empty, and the floor is strewn with leaves and cones from ice cream trucks. A pair of scissors and some glue sit on a shelf by a small table covered in paper and pencil. I find a sheet of this paper and begin to draw an outline of the forest, but as I hold the scissors above it I cannot cut, and the scissor-hand is also empty.

The door to the cathedral opens, but there is no sound except for the slow fall of an icicle from the ceiling above, as if each drop were a moment that must happen. The outline of the forest grows larger in my hand as I look down at it, and the scissor-hand is now filled with its form.

I stand still, holding the scissor-hand and the outline of the forest. When something happens, the outline is empty, but the scissor-hand is not. Something has passed through me.