Slowly inching his segmented exoskeleton across the sea floor, a local marine arthropod, class Trilobita, reported that Earth’s natural evolution was “progressing quite nicely.”
“Things are looking mighty fine,” announced the prehistoric invertebrate, taking measure of his surroundings through a series of small, hexagonal eyelets located at the tip of his thorax. “Sulfurous gas seems to be bubbling up to the surface pretty good, and several single-cell organisms appear to be mutating at a rather steady pace. Also, just today, I developed the ability to roll into a small protective shell in order to avoid predators.”
Added the trilobite, “Yup, this evolution thing is going great.”
According to the 4-inch-wide arthropod, the entire planet—once nothing more than a large, tedious mass of molten rock—has really taken shape recently. Clearing a swath of nourishing algae from his glabella, the excited prehistoric organism went on to report that a number of interesting changes had occurred, including the sprouting of several new microbial communities, and the development of a process known only as photosynthesis, which the trilobite called “hard to explain, but really, really cool.”
In addition, the trilobite said, the shifting of tectonic plates, and with them, the birth of new mountain ranges, river valleys, and coastlines, seemed to be coming along great.
“It’s a wonderful time to be alive,” said the tri-lobed creature, its protruding feelers and antennules twitching spasmodically with anticipation. “To be born during this, the Cambrian Explosion—why, I couldn’t imagine a better period, really. It’s all happening right now! I mean, if things keep going the way they’re going, what with evolution taking off and everything, pretty soon we’ll have huge, towering reptiles roaming across the earth.”
“Can you imagine it? Reptiles!” the trilobite added. “I’m not even sure what those are!”
The trilobite then settled down in his murky lagoon, where for the third straight night he would rest soundly while thoughts of someday becoming a brine shrimp, or perhaps even a crustacean—each of which, he knew, would be just a small part of the beautiful upward arc of life, forever changing, forever moving toward balance and harmony—danced in his tiny, insignificant head.
