Frederic George Pauwels: Vaporous Bliss

1983.

You are a child. Life is good, simple, and full of wonder. You have no worries.

It snowed overnight. As you wake up and open the blinds, the world is transformed into a pristine landscape of white. You can’t wait to get outside, with the dog at your side. The crunch of fresh snow underfoot, the cold air on your face—it feels like magic. Memories of a distant life.

2033. Fifty years have passed.

It snowed again last night. No surprise as you open the blinds, the same familiar landscape now worn and tired.

You step out with the dog, your companion in this quiet world. The routine is the same: find food, gather wood to stay warm.

As you walk, alone, you remember. You remember the good days—before the internet took over, before electric cars, artificial intelligence, the fires, the droughts, the floods… before the war, before the catastrophe.

Nature took over. The world grew quiet again, and somehow, you survived.

And now, in the stillness of snow and silence, in the solitude of a world reclaimed, here you stand, in Vapourous Bliss, a fragile peace amidst the ruins, a gentle acceptance of what is, and what was.