Dawkins' Dyslexic Dog

There is simply a shape, just the edges of the trees that lie beyond the end of the long lawn that stretches away from the house. The sky, somewhere between black and just not black is a tiny wavelength away from these silhouettes, a final gasp of the day that has gone, indicator of the heat seeping away from the ground, up into space and out beyond the sky to travel forever. And it has always been this way, day following day following day, in a line that has no variation back to the days of common ancestors, and further back to when our lifeline began. For we are all related, all animals and plants and the exotic inbetweeners, the fungi, the viruses, linked by a code written in the same programming language, interchangeable in ways that we cannot yet understand. All those trees at the bottom of the garden are merely cousins, in the same way that your walking, talking cousins are, just with a many-greats grandmother a long way back in the graph of our family. If that does not excite you then you are blind to the real magic that exists in this world, magic that does not need conjecture and "perhaps" to be real and true in absolute scientific ways. Maintain your wonder at even the simplest triumphs of science.