13 May 2022

I was studying the real history of the Earth with a small group of visionary paleontologists, whose new hypothesis postulated more prehistoric eras than the mainstream consensus, and a much longer succession of periods and civilizations — from colossal saurians and sea mammals to stopover aliens, including architectonic peoples with extremely advanced knowledge. All of them, if you looked closely, experienced the same cycle of growth and decay, so that was what was in store for us as well, and it was best to be prepared.

The enlightened minority that I had joined as a dilettante had discovered, or published, an illustrated book that served as proof and compass: the planet had not always been the same size and, once much larger, used to be mostly covered by oceans whose laws obeyed more directly those of the universe.

I was roaming the streets of my home town on this late winter afternoon, contemplating with even more curiosity the future vestiges of an umpteenth planetary cycle, and enjoying the orange reflections of the sun on the top of the facades, under a cloudless sky.

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