It spilled out, from one horizon to another, and torched the blanketed mountains, with nothing left but a single tree. The tree stood alone, standing against the nothingness, eons passing slowly, until the tree turned to stone. One stone tree, in a courtyard of thought, with the witness of me, and an ability to do naught. What then, is the purpose? A stone tree, alone with one witness, with the end approaching brusquely.