each generation expects no less of the earth than the last
What wonders we expect of earth powders, encoded with ancient answers to our ills. Answers offered up under interrogation. Today I held a newborn, size of a triduum. Expiry tag two centuries after my birth, courtesy of such medical miracles to come.
She may one day eye-roll dismiss my era. Ancient. How bad could it be, after all? We survived (except those who didn’t). She will embrace new problems arising from prior solutions. Which is to say, with eye-roll familiarity, how bad can it be?
A world of teleportation and transformation. Cities shrunk for lilliputian billions. Clones where no one starts from scratch. Where nothing is ever over—except privacy, individuality, and the great out-of-doors. Heirs to expiry long after hers. If ever.
