‘Oumuamua, the scout, the messenger.
Divine science-fiction; half relic of a future that has already happened, half alien debris. Organic and synthetic at the same time, somewhere, somehow, becoming in our minds. Foreign enough to make us think of ourselves. What can this scout see? What does this messenger come to spell? Who sends her (why not her), or does she send herself? A flying rock that is not a flying rock, but a grainy dot haunting a black and white silence, and still. Still, it flies.