Beach combing along the shores of the Firth of Forth, at the forefront of Scotland's backwaters. I sniff oxygen and a distant chippy. A certain sense of the immense curvature of the planet, the far awayness of the untouchable sky, the silly clouds, the jelly white sun, the plastic waste and sludge between our toes. Images spin around in the head. "Why did we ever evolve away from wearing socks and shoes?"
I wonder if that might be some future thought transmitted back by some future person and I've just received it like a late postcard or a spam email. Perhaps they don't go outside in the future? Too messy. The things we make and believe are all set into the concrete of our forever world. No they're not and neither are we planetary royalty, we're just quite small really.
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