People take the future for granted.
Helena lies on her back, revelling in the feeling of the sun beating down on her pale skin, all thoughts of her complexion and of propriety firmly banished to the past. The sky is criss-crossed with white streaks that slowly bloom and fade as time ticks by. Her eyes track the flight of the planes as they pass slowly above her head, her lips moving with the ghosts of unfinished calculations and hypotheses.
Humanity has even managed to stake a claim on the skies, with great metal contraptions that carve out patterns on the pale blue canvas as if it is their god given right to do so, and yet they still scurry along with their eyes cast firmly downwards, heads full of goodness only knows what.
She shakes her head slightly as this thought traces its way across her consciousness, causing the breeze to catch a few strands of her hair. A hand reaches out and brushes them away softly, lingering only for the briefest of moments before settling back down on the grass. With this gesture Helena is brought spiralling back to the ground again. Back to the woman who tethers her to the present, forging a link between the past and the future, holding her firmly in place as the planes continue to soar above them.