Perspective

The gravel pavement was hard and solid under his shoes. He could imagine how hot it would be, having baked in the sun for almost two hours now. The sun above was cheery, warm. So many scents in the air, a light salty breeze coming from the river a block away, mixed with earthy tones from the trees that lined the pavement, the dog he was walking could probably smell the urination of many others on the sides, on the small pieces of mud and land that were allotted to the trees. Footsteps, dancing with the whoosh of cars, the humming of engines, a horn every now and then, the whispering of the trees, the thudding of his own feet on the ground, the contented sighs of his dog.

He wondered what would happen if he did not exist. Suddenly vanished, well his dog would miss him for starters. His parents would. His brothers would. His friends would, probably might. Like all other humans, he had purpose, he had meaning. He was valued by at the very least, a few others.

He walked the dog, she sniffed around her tree, smelling the other dogs that had tried to lay a claim on it, found a spot, and relieved herself.

From above, his head looked like a black mop of hair, as you got higher, he would shrink in your vision until he was an ant, the dog a speck of white. The trees would look like shrubs, and the higher you went, the faster you went, soon, he would fade. The trees would become ants, higher and higher, and higher. Soon the pavement would be a small line, the size of your pinky, the air would become rarified, until it stopped existing. Until there was vacuum and you were in space. The earth would look blue, and big, and beautiful until you sped away from it too. It too would then become smaller, until it was a dot in the vastness of the universe, the clocks of existence ticking, uncaring.

We are all just meaningless specks in an otherwise indifferent universe.

The Philosopher 2019