I hope for a world in which the wild has been restored. Seas of open wilderness interspersed with islands of settlements. Cities, but not as we know them now. Buildings with solar panel roofs. Streets of moss, or low-growing grass, lined with raspberry bushes and flickering birch trees. Small homes; open, light, window-heavy, where blue sky leaks in through skylights. Everything is close enough to walk to. The schools. The farmer’s market. The post-office, hospitals, dentists, library, train station. Behind each house is a garden with kale, carrots, and many ripe tomatoes that will be canned before winter. Inside there are closets filled with well-made clothes, bought from the store down the street where the items are all hand-sewn, and repaired for free. The purpose of life is no longer to buy, or to sell. Everyone has enough to be comfortable. Family and the Earth and the well-being of the community; these are what matter. Health, peacefulness, beauty. On weekends, many people take the train out of the city, out past the farmlands and orchards, into the forests, where the air is pierced with a distant, fireless smoke. Here, they spend the weekend with trees young and old, with all the stars at night, and they reclaim the wildness within themselves.