Quiet was the mind of man. The millennia had broken on that race like magma: running hot and fluid in the world when it was young; slowing, weighing on it like stone as it aged.
Man had left the earth to contemplate the stars, only to return empty-hearted. He was alone.
He delved the oceans, plundered the near satellites and milked the sun.
The race waxed — rage and noise and plight — and the race waned — care and woe and fright. Until, like a ball rolling on an arc, man’s mind came to peace, resting in a center so deep it could not be roused.
Out of the craton of the earth rose intellect, peerless and sharp. And mankind’s numbers, so few, so reticent, did not recognize its strength.
Earth’s crust drank the blood and dreams and flesh of its former masters, then pushed up sweet fruits for its new Adam.
— david j.