A history for whom? You decline to answer. Adding up the years of your brick, you converge upon the new without showing your work. An old exclamation reverberating! Everything is now, now, (and, finally, a diminished) now. Puritan excess has become a more general excess.
Still, I love your revitalized mudflats, your long-since-emitted prayers now escaping beyond our solar system with no reinforcements behind them. Someday they’ll return with incompatible blessings. And I will be here singing, announcing the arrival to absolutely no fanfare. No attention means no delays. And who wants to dare the wrath of those guiding your beacon headlights, stopping and going, still climbing that famed hill? Fed upon what modernity has cobbled up in the meantime!