A nameless shadow flits across the face of Science.
The Theory of Evolution has not been proven.
The ‘missing links’ for each species have not come forth from the fossil record.
The constituent parts of our DNA have proven far older than the Earth itself.
They can only have come from deep, deep-space.
Yet, in one sense, we have always been here.
Each catastrophic cataclysm endured has been but a pruning.
A clarion call to new growth.
The ushering in of the previously overlooked.
Those ekers out of existence.
The unassuming, unsung, survivors.
But if our very make-up forestalls the evolutionary leap, then who, or what, makes it?
We must turn to Memory for our answer.
We all know how she works.
She, too, is a gardener.
She cuts, and she prunes, and she grafts.
She contracts, or shrinks, both time and space.
And has a mind only for…
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