Up here in the mountains it is an everyday thing to come across vestiges of earlier climbers &/or the oc- casional earlier painting. They may present as tracks in the earth or discarded equipment. Sometimes as ghosts or holograms. Stare at the latter for long enough & they sometimes become embarrassed, begin to speak. In a thin voice that still sparks echoes, this one says: "I was once the star of The Age of Enlightenment. Now the world has forgotten me. Am I not still beautiful?"
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