There is no such thing as a beginning, a tabula rasa. All residual molecules are restless with the memory and particulars of what has come before.

The protective atmospheric layer requires thickening once again in order to combat the relentless advancement of warming. Now saturated by perpetual twilight, a subtle delirium holds this place firmly in its grip.

Amidst the subdued light and dampness, pious structures reach altitudes of past achievements, inevitably melting as they near the sun. Mercurial clouds swarm the evening stratosphere, hanging low and heavy; thick with brooding introspection that tethers them firmly to the ground. Remnants on the surface appear motionless. Threads lie strewn, barely connected in a soup of broken bonds: tentacular lifelines clinging to the potential of rapid re-absorption.

Then, almost by chance, murmurs of re-form shudder awake as though a current has sparked nearby; first a twitch and then distinct vibrations, silently oscillating in the deepest crevasse. Amino acids begin to find one another in waters that were once less sour.

Sensory inputs and pheromonal exchanges contribute to this discernible self-organisation: irregular trials and errors flesh out novel structures until there emerges a system. Here, organs and tissues seem to grow outside of their chassis and aggregates coalesce into unfamiliar bodily forms, conditioned by this world of atmospheric transformation.

While the weeks pass, each one seemingly a little brighter, everything is moving once again. Via a familiar set of steps, not made by one but by many, the totality pulsates and ticks in rhythm. This cadence is now our measure of time.