But the band has not told the truth. It does not play forever, after all, and one by one the guests leave, their costumes dragging behind them. Each covertly holds the idea that surely this time they have gone too far, and atonement looms on the horizon. There are no flowers to be found anywhere. Now they fade off into obscurity and impoverishment. Still the birch waits quietly for the fleeting moment, the secret.
Then the Sun hits a certain angle in the western sky as He arcs toward the Underworld, and finally the secret is revealed. He bathes the birch in kisses of gold light that drip slowly down her trunk, and the two embrace in a passion of long lost love found once again. The surrounding area is hushed in the brilliance of the embrace, watching a timeless and ethereal enactment of "I AM." Then He dips quietly below the horizon, and the world falls quickly into dusk. A cold wind picks up seemingly out of nowhere. All eyes lower to the ground, and the birch waits silently and expectantly once again.