To you, an outsider, perhaps it is just another cold, polluted carved rock, taking up

space.

I wouldn't know any better. I have no sense of refined culture or taste for other celestial bodies.

You would be a connoisseur of such things. Maybe you travel worlds and your people eat

minerals, and you're on your quest to find a new indulgence. I would be an ignorant, naive

creature you thought crazy for not even knowing such a hobby existed.

Maybe you like to make new friends, and you thought my planet might be a good place to check

out. I don't have an answer for you on that one. We barely get along ourselves. If I chose to be

your guide, I'm not sure I could bring you back. And what stories would you tell? It could mean

bad publicity, and we give ourselves enough of that as it is.

Or. You could need something. What that would be, I can only guess, but I'm not stupid.

Supposedly we're the supreme kind on our planet. I've seen what we do to other life forms.

How we mow the grass, step on bugs, tear trees to make shelter, cut up cattle for supper, drain

the Earth of fuel so we can prosper and be mightiful. You might believe yourselves to be more

supreme. I think we would have to step down then, right?

I would hope though you would ask me what I thought of Earth. That you would even care to ask

me. I will indulge you.

If you saw it through my eyes.

You would think it sparkly and beautiful. The ocean blue, with swirls of cloud, and how they

caressed mountains. Had it been unique. But like a penny, there have been many you have come

across and should you happen to pass by it on your journey, say, to another galaxy, it wouldn't

be a great misfortune. You may have seen better, purple skies, planets that had three moons and

two rings. You would carry on to the next boulder, plunder, make peace, inhabit.

Had you taken care to notice how wonderful it could prove, though, you could have stopped to

take notice. You would study us and be confused. You might find my kind disgusting, intriguing,

or just outright terrible. I wouldn't blame you for thinking that. I've had my moments of question

about being human, and what it meant. How I could explain it to you, someone new, who is not

bias and shaped by my ironic culture. Despite everything I could say about it, I could tell you

what is great about being human and what it means to live on Earth.

Inside of Earth, there is an energy. There is a vine, although you cannot see it, that connects us

all. Call it a vein, if you will. It pulses and buzzes with purpose. Upon stone, there is dirt, and a

seed flourishes into a tree, a tree that grows for thousands of years. Birds inhabit its limbs, bears

climb it for honey, ants scavenge its wrinkles for other insects to harvests. Winds blow through

its leaves, thunder strikes its roots, children play around it. We breath, us humans, in and out,

and there is a unspoken gratitude and knowledge that we need one another. All life, and us. We

humans have the capacity to love, that is our greatest power. Not our science. Our buildings. Our

fashion. Our foods. Or our languages. It is something we all speak. We are also capable of great

hatred. But that's not what I want to teach you about. I want to tell you a different story. The

water, the dirt, the sky. How it all intermingles.

This is what I think.

If you should know, I am known on Earth as an Idealist. Try look looking for that in the big old

universe, I'm sure it's hard to come by.

If someone had asked me to describe the Earth, as I had knew it before, that's what I would have

told them.

That, despite our shortcomings, I believed in it.