Time is stuck inside a glacier, and thus is prone only to sending subliminal messages, either warning or invitation. You might as well be floating, but it’s still cold when there are no seconds to watch. And damn it, without a way to measure life you still have nerves and gravity. So you plunge. You plunge into a bright and forgiving emptiness. And at the shore, the flowers have no temperature but the fields they make are warm and lovely.