The ripple of mountains is very much like waves on the sea, rising so slowly that no one will see a peak break and roll away over the shore. I like to imagine it as I fly over, and that the wind rushing through my ears is the roaring rush of water through shells and stone, or tumbling fragments of stone cascading down the neighbouring range.

Things repeat over and over again in ways we will never see. Maybe the whole world is a wave, sloshing and whirling within itself, while the moon circles in our eddies, and the wider sea of space holds calm around us. Or perhaps I am overthinking…