November 5, 2026. The frost is still far off, yet in the mornings one’s breath is already visible as the warm vapor exhaled condenses upon meeting the cold air. And for a moment, it crystallizes: the medium surrounding us, and everything our continually transforming biology seeks to appropriate from it, are one and the same. As though we were nothing more than a multitude of wills settled upon the very same breath.
And perhaps it could hardly be otherwise.
It takes organic shape. It comes. It arrives.
Life, for the most part, is simply inevitable.