I like this little furball thing (pilfered from here (again)). I was thinking about how I can't tell if it's about to jump or if it's jumped already. It's actually part of an animation, but I don't want to watch the animation because I like the image as it is.
From one perspective, the little furball hasn't jumped yet. He sits there staring at the hoop nervously - his anxiety has created a little divet in the fur on his head (arm? kneecap? butt?). It really wants to be on the other side of that hoop, but it's afraid. "O Hoop of Gold, I beeseech thee," says Furball, "teach me your secrets! Lend me strength that I may find myself complete and happy on the other side!"
The hoop does not answer, because the hoop is an inanimate object like any other. It has no real importance to most creatures. Its only significance has been assigned by Furball, who has wanted to jump through this specific hoop for a very very long time, but who has irrational misgivings about his ability to do so.
"What if I fall mid-jump?" he thinks. "Or what if the hoop rejects me and spits me back out the way I came in? What if I don't fit through that hoop? What if I've been waiting to jump so long that I've become too old to make the jump?"
Looking at it from the other side, the furball has just landed with a poofy noise. The bounce in his step when he landed caused a divet in the fur on his head (belly? shoulder? leg?). He feels free and easy, having accomplished something that he's aspired to for a long time. "That wasn't so bad," he says to himself. "I'm very glad I got it over with, and now I can get on with my life."
From one perspective, the little furball hasn't jumped yet. He sits there staring at the hoop nervously - his anxiety has created a little divet in the fur on his head (arm? kneecap? butt?). It really wants to be on the other side of that hoop, but it's afraid. "O Hoop of Gold, I beeseech thee," says Furball, "teach me your secrets! Lend me strength that I may find myself complete and happy on the other side!"
The hoop does not answer, because the hoop is an inanimate object like any other. It has no real importance to most creatures. Its only significance has been assigned by Furball, who has wanted to jump through this specific hoop for a very very long time, but who has irrational misgivings about his ability to do so.
"What if I fall mid-jump?" he thinks. "Or what if the hoop rejects me and spits me back out the way I came in? What if I don't fit through that hoop? What if I've been waiting to jump so long that I've become too old to make the jump?"
Looking at it from the other side, the furball has just landed with a poofy noise. The bounce in his step when he landed caused a divet in the fur on his head (belly? shoulder? leg?). He feels free and easy, having accomplished something that he's aspired to for a long time. "That wasn't so bad," he says to himself. "I'm very glad I got it over with, and now I can get on with my life."
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