"What now?"

"We have water."

"We don't have food."

"There are knives and tools, can hunt."

"We don't have shelter."

"The hulk of the plane will do."

"We won't have heat."

"There are matches, and I know how to make a fire."

"What if we get sick?"

"There's a first-aid kit and I know CPR."

"Why are you so calm about this?"

"Because one of us has to be."

"Do you think we'll make it out? Find help?"

"... We have to try."

It's true, they do. Every single day.

The sun stretches over the mountains and climbs through the clouds. The grass soaks up her light and flowers look in her face with joy. And when her time is done in the day, she nestles back down in her ocean bed.

On the days you can't see her, the rain falls down. Maybe slowly, maybe surely, but it does fall. It falls into the rivers and streams, and onto the windowpanes, and dances on roofs. Sometimes it even falls in your shoes.

In the cities, buildings rise higher every day. Instead of the slow motion of the forest you see everything happening in fast-forward. It's not for everyone, just as a slow pace bores others, but it can be wondrous to stand in awe of the blinking neon lights that declare what they want to the rest of the world, in the centre of the noise and excitement and stories you'll never hear. Opportunity passes by in a flash, coming and going. If you miss it, you'll run into it again.

Elsewhere, someplace quieter, a song is being sung, for the fun of it. A cake is being baked for no special reason. A card is being made just to make someone smile. A scarf is being made just to say I love you. A game is being played just to pass the time. A trail is being hiked just to be outside.

Things are being done just because. Just because it makes people happy.

And even if, on some days, it seems like that just because is just because it makes you mad, even if it's silent and somber, even if the neon lights are blinding, even if it all seems to collapse around you just then...

You'll know that somewhere the sun still walks across her sky. Some other place the rain is still pitter-pattering on windows and roofs. A flower hangs onto the hope that you can still smile and feel joy, and I do too.

Gears turn, clicks clack, ticks tock, oars row, pages flip, pens write, and things happen. The beauty is in how you see it.

You may have heard of the theory of relativity, presented by Einstein. Well, this isn't that. It's another one. It goes on so:

Imagine a universe completely empty and barren. There is nothing in this space, except for a ball. I tell you that ball is rolling. But how can you tell if this ball is rolling? It's the only thing in the universe, you've got nothing to measure it up against. If it is, in truth, rolling, or in motion, how would you know?

The fact is that you would not.

What this theory says, in its core, that nothing is anything unless compared to another object. This ball is big, you say? What's the definition of big? How can you know if this ball is big if there's nothing to compare it to? Even you, technically, are nonexistant in this scenario. So how would this ball be big, or be assigned any other value, unless in comparison?

Taking this theory further, you could say...

No person is wise, unless in comparison. No person is moronic, unless in comparison. No person is beautiful, unless in comparison. No person is ugly, unless in comparison. No person is any quality unless compared to another person.

And that is my take on relativity.

a.n.: this is a piece i had beforehand, and am using as an example

On all other days of the year, the mountains are bright and clear, a vivid green from the trees on full display for everyone to see. From mid-November to early March, though, the clouds descend from the sky and their mist shrouds the mountain like a cloak, covering its peak and hiding it behind the vast white, submerging it with the rest of the cloudy-gray sky. The mountain seems to loom over the city it surrounds, more than before, with an aura of undecidedness, mystery, in their air.

The foot of the mountain, if you choose to climb her this cold season, will seem warmer; inviting even. As you ascend higher, however, the air will grow colder and thinner; the ground turning hard and rough. Chunks of snow and ice will mar the rich soil of the earth until it’s no longer the white that’s intruding, but the brown, as the snow overtakes the ground.

If you had not prepared for this, you would have to turn back, head down to where the trees’ green still shows, the crows are still cawing and you can vaguely hear the sound of a car passing in the distance, roughing the gravel road. You did come for this, though; with chain boots and gloves; you’ll have to endure the harsh terrain, because over time it will only grow more so, the farther up you go. Hope that you began on your path early on enough, because at this time of the year, and at the slow, steady pace you take, the sun will dim over the horizon soon and the moon will begin its journey westward. Darkness will fall, blinding you to your surroundings, hiding the hazards and dangers of the path you have chosen to traverse.

You should hurry, ready the peak before sunset to see the city lights turn on, one by one, and watch, mesmerized, as the orange glow of the sky turns red turns to a deep purple. You’ve made it this far, and basking in your victory over the mountain, you miss the shadows closing in and the predatory eyes watching you, watching watching watching, and forget you’ve yet to make the journey down.