The sun illuminates the very top of a neighbour’s lone Douglas fir, a tall tree inexplicably spared from being cut down.  Behind it, a soft blue sky with white ruffles of cumlus;  the first clear day after a procession of rainy ones. Blades of grass rise, one by one and altogether, from where they’ve lain, pinned prostrate to the clay soil by the pounding rain.

The sun. A perfect distance, from our undeservedly lucky planet where undeservedly lucky humans reside. 

I think, not for the first time, how much we have fucked up this paradise, not only for ourselves, but for every other living thing in it. 

I wonder, maybe for the first time, how much better off this paradise might have been, without our meddling consciousness.

What if we’d never developed consciousness? Had never become self aware, but held fast to the bliss of life. 

Better yet, what if some other being had developed consciousness instead of us? 

Dogs, for example. 

Then I wonder if it’s possible to have consciousness, without caring about what your hair looks like. 

I say this out loud. 

Who? He asks. 

He always says ‘who?” when he wants me to repeat myself. Not “I didn’t hear you” or “what was that you were saying?” 

Who?

Do you think dogs could have consciousness, without worrying about what their hair looks like? 

Yes, he says. Dogs could do that. 

But not cats.