The era was white.
Not the off white of snow on ground that makes its distaste for the stuff known, but the pure, clean white of snow piled onto itself, like angel feathers enveloping the Earth in something truly special, something physically and ephemerally unique.
The flakes fell and fell, as they do, and I stood and watched, as I do.
Then it hit me.
The universe was massive, ever expanding, never ceasing in its quest for manifest destiny…
So how special were these moments? How unique were they, really?
If the universe IS all inclusive and ever expanding, then for every one moonlit snowy evening there must be millions upon millions of them all across her face, for every laughing family bundled up against the sharp cold, trillions more.
And if that is the case, where does the meaning of the word unique come from? If there truly is nothing unique in the entirety of the universe, if in fact everything has already happened somewhere else, then where do humans fall? We believe ourselves to be unique, the first sentient, intelligent life, the MOST intelligent life, the first Homo Sapiens.
But if given that all the things listed above, all the theories, the maybes and the maybe-not’s…
If given them as a fact…
Are we in fact the single greatest species we claim to be?