Robinson planted his seed firmly within the winter ice.
He rested for a day, pulled up his pants, and stepped back a few paces to admire his work.
The tendrils rose up almost immediately upon his movement, red pulsing feelers already rooted in thick permafrost.
They pulled their heads back like serpents and begin to seep into his body through his exposed hands, pushing back fingernails and pumping like cool morphine up his arms, deep into his circulatory system, headlong into his heart.
His eyes expanded like galaxies.
Robinson just sat back and enjoyed the ride.