The clouds passed, in phrases and paragraphs, like incomprehensible messages of troubling import, overhead across the forested ridges, above the unsealed cliffs, beyond the uninhabited fields of lonely mesas, followed by their faithful shadows flowing with effortless adaptation over each crack, crevice, crease and crag on the wrinkled skin of the Utahn earth.
“We seem to be in the trough of a wave; there’s a huge wall rushing towards us with a white crest, and I just hope that we can ride to the top of it and maybe see something — a larger, more interesting world — on the other side. On the other hand, we may be swamped. We’re living in very interesting times but, at the same time, deeply uncertain ones.”
J. G. Ballard