There is no such thing as a beginning, a tabula rasa. All residual
molecules are restless with the memory and particulars of what has come
before.

The protective atmospheric layer requires thickening once again in
order to combat the relentless advancement of warming. Now saturated
by perpetual twilight, a subtle delirium holds this place firmly in its
grip.

Amidst the subdued light and dampness, pious structures reach altitudes
of past achievements, inevitably melting as they near the sun. Mercurial
clouds swarm the evening stratosphere, hanging low and heavy; thick
with brooding introspection that tethers them firmly to the ground.
Remnants on the surface appear motionless. Threads lie strewn, barely
connected in a soup of broken bonds: tentacular lifelines clinging to
the potential of rapid re-absorption.

Then, almost by chance, murmurs of re-form shudder awake as though a
current has sparked nearby; first a twitch and then distinct vibrations,
silently oscillating in the deepest crevasse. Amino acids begin to find
one another in waters that were once less sour.

Sensory inputs and pheromonal exchanges contribute to this discernible
self-organisation: irregular trials and errors flesh out novel structures
until there emerges a system. Here, organs and tissues seem to grow
outside of their chassis and aggregates coalesce into unfamiliar bodily
forms, conditioned by this world of atmospheric transformation.

While the weeks pass, each one seemingly a little brighter, everything
is moving once again. Via a familiar set of steps, not made by one but
by many, the totality pulsates and ticks in rhythm. This cadence is now
our measure of time.