I look at the horizon for a trillion, trillion years.

It will happen, perhaps, and I will be a witness. The earth will miraculously
cure itself. Water will turn into ice. Mesmerised, I will watch the white sculptures,
remember the Arctic and its magnificence, and shiver on the shore. The sun will play
tricks on my mind, engraving on the pure white ice the shadow of a long stalk.
A single, red tulip.

Congratulations, this flower is for you: the only human still alive, the only one who
still believes in miracles.