There is no darkness here. There is no light—such concepts are little more than artifacts of perception. I perceive this place, as do the other members of my team; but tomorrow we will move on. There is so much to explore, so many pieces to a puzzle we scarcely knew existed. Later, or perhaps later still, others will sniff along our ion trail, fall into orbit, and land here. Perception will reign once again, but in the interim, there will be nothing. I remember, once, I heard a question: If a tree falls in the forest and there’s no one there to hear it, does it make a sound? I remember my shock and existential dismay at the answer. No. A tree falling in a forest with no one there to hear it makes no sound at all. Sound, is—after all—a matter of perception, the interpretation of auditory data. A tree falling in a forest makes no sound, though it may generate plenty of noise. In the absence of a mind, sound cannot exist, cannot inform one of the falling of a tree or the sigh of wind through metal and foliage. How profound a difference a single mind makes. There were minds here, once. Millions of them. There were people. Men. Women. Children. They are all gone now. Their cities stand empty. We cannot imagine what their buildings must have meant: we know which were dwellings and places of work. We’ve found their libraries, their museums, their factories and warehouses. We’ve found their temples to the strange gods they worshipped, and we’ve found their tombs. They were human—these people—like us. They came from Earth. Originally. But we have no record of them: we don’t know their leaders or their reasons for coming here. We don’t know why we’ve forgotten them. We may never know. Most tragically—for me at least—we don’t know what these places meant to them: which were loved, which were despised…where did shy lovers first meet and clasp fingers for the first time, giddy with adrenaline and fear? Where did boys play their stupid bravado games? Where did girls laugh and gossip? A storm approaches; I can smell it—a vague tinge of ozone. It is a cloying, acrid smell. Storms rage across the face of this world, proof—perhaps—that things have been set profoundly askew. Something in the atmosphere has shifted and in some strange way the wind and rain elementals are restless. A picture of what happened has begun to emerge. Remnants of a world-spanning radioactive blanket tell us of violent conflagration, and indeed, there are entire ruined cities, seas of glass, black scars that were once whole, virgin forests. Here, to the north of the largest continent, cities remain relatively unscathed. Their towers fall—not from warfare—but from natural elemental erosion. Who fought whom, and for what reasons? Perhaps in time we will learn this, but for now, there are only haunted towers, hollow cities, and rivers swimming with strange, mutated fish. Jonas Muir/Unpublished Journals *** This is yet another shot of the infamous vertical lift railroad bridge spanning the Chicago River at Canal Street. The mood of this picture is a direct result of music I’m listening to as I write this. It’s no secret that I love science fiction, and adore the re-imagined Battlestar Galactica. I often listen to the soundtracks that accompany each season of this now-ended show, and as I considered where to take this image, I cued up a rather haunting track that seemed to dictate the visual (and emotional) course of this image. Though I can’t claim the music as my own, it is most certainly an intimate portion of this image, and the story that accompanies it. For a more intimate glimpse into the inspiration of this picture (and story) please click HERE. As always, thank you for viewing, reading, commenting (and even listening if you've followed the link) and hopefully you're all having a great week.