He was flying again above the lake of Voltaire.
Enclaved blue inside the land.
But at its edge all human activity since it was source of life.
Round chessboard.
No edge only limit.
And further away, the cut in pieces green with crops which had changed even the forests.
Ultimately his death also had been late no matter what the philosopher wrote.
And the dictionary had been filled with more lemmas that d’ Alembert and Diderot had estimated.
Difficult death.
Or rather hard life.
The optimal of robustness.
To the service of humans.
And especially of the poor who no lawyer didn’t wanted to protect from the injustice of the so called justice.
The schemata of the Encyclopedia didn’t only have great accuracy, it was also the recording of knowledge that liberated humans from obscurantism and the trespassing of rights that didn’t yet exist, at least officially.
The Masters hadn’t stop even for an instant to write the book of nature.
And this history had started long before Galileo Galilei.
Because Archimedes didn’t wait for anyone.
He knew long ago the myth of Prometheus.
And an insignificant sword hadn’t stopped the action of his diachronic work.
Afterwards a chain reaction occurred.
Because the ramifications had not yet been conceived even if Giordano Bruno was speaking already about multiple worlds centuries before.