"At what point shall we expect the approach of danger? By what means shall we fortify against it? Shall we expect some transatlantic giant to step the Ocean, and crush us at a blow? Never.
All the armies of Europe, Asia and Africa combined, with all the treasure of the earth in their military chest could not by force take a drink from the Ohio, or make a track on the Blue Ridge, in a trial of a thousand years.

At what point then is the approach of danger to be expected? I answer, if it ever reach us, it must spring up amongst us. It cannot come from abroad. If destruction be our lot, we must ourselves be its author and finisher.

As a nation of freemen, we must live through all time, or die by suicide."

~ Abraham Lincoln, January 27, 1838 

A young man appeared from under the trees. He stopped, staring before the array of wooden seats and granite ampitheater that presented itself before him. It was as grand as he had remembered; from long nights filled with laughter brought about by skits and the sound of many singing as one, their uniforms obscured in the darkness but their voices ever clear in the evening air. All the while two massive fires would burn in their pits, great torches painting the stones and hemlock with brilliant hues. So many eyes were drawn to them, gazing at the lively flames dancing across the stacked wood.

The sun rises, but not for long. The bright morning vanishes as a storm moves in over Johnson's gentle hills, draping a dark cloak upon the land. Snuffed like the wick of a candle, the last days autumn come to an abrupt end - without so much as a single leaf from the colorful months beforehand.

Sichuan, China

170,000,000 mya

Through dense forests and vast fields
Following the trail
Of those before me