In the flick of geological time, we pass through and are, as quickly, forgotten. Next to the height of the mountains and depths of the sea, we are miniscule. We lack majesty, lasting beauty or intrinsic value. Indeed, we are more parasitic than mushrooms; which in their consumption of the dead at least contribute to the cycle of life. We deplete rather than enhance. At least plants when using carbon dioxide replenish oxygen. We grow in ever increasing numbers, but with decreasing value to the world. We use without thought and destroy without conscience. Few of our monuments last and those who build them are faceless, nameless and forgotten. Name the architect a pyramid, or the high priest in the First Temple or the artist who so carefully outlined his or her hand in red ochre on a wall deep in a French cave. Think about it. One hundred billion of us have drawn breath since the beginning of time. How many are remembered, and, if remembered at all, for what?