Continents and countries come one after the other and the earth feels – not small, but almost endlessly connected, an epic poem of flowing verses. It holds no possibility of opposition. And even when the oceans come, and come and come and come in a seamless reel, and there’s no sense of land or anything but polished blue, and every country you’ve ever heard of seems to have slid into the cavern of space, even then there’s no waiting for anything else. There is nothing else and never was.
