Isn't it always joking aside with Cthulhu? Humourless Cthulhu reaches into endless depths of Earth and time to bring up horrid muck and the smell of sortilege and cheese. Forsythia sends roots into the world and springtime flowers appear. Yellow flowers, a précis of Spring. Youchoose. The whiplike branches fill with blossoms even before fledged with leaves. The landscape sparks, news that stays news. Green ordinariness follows as the season matures, but wait. Those thin branches may just lean and droop till touching earth itself. Roots form from the touch, and new plants to send their share. Generative brightness could form a reticule of maybe bee-line calm to meditate the process: staying in time to the time out of time. No need to shame grim Cthulhu for being a lug. Just step it up and step it out. Let rain be the beginning of rain, in the flower, branch, and root.
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