To progress. To move from one thing to another. Linear time. The past: worse. The future: brighter. A dichotomy of motion.
Dystopia is the inverse, but the same, a romanticized past, a future of unbearable ugliness and privation.
In the rhythms of the greater world, there is another story.
Cold in the early morning. Wake to snow-covered fields. Half-moon, bright in the rich gray of the sky, above the ridges of white and black.
Woodsmoke. Even the fence rails, even the willow branches wear a ridge of snow.