National Geographic Rhythms of Life
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From the first dawn of creation |
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our world, our lives, |
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and every living thing |
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a celestial cadence |
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of ebb and flow |
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of heat and cold |
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all set into motion by the epic |
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These are the rhythms of life itself. |
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Before there could be day or night |
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before there was a spring or fall |
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a star, our sun, |
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From the seething stuff of stars, |
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over time, the planets of |
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Four billion years ago, or more, |
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the planet called, Earth, |
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But for nearly a billion years, |
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it would be a home inhospitable |
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a red and angry globe |
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a churning mass of fire, poison gas, |
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At the core of the planet |
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For thousands upon thousands |
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this infant planet suffered the |
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as it formed and reformed itself. |
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From the very beginning, |
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But a night and day |
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Fueled by the forces of creation, |
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the earth raced through |
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spinning five times as fast |
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A few brief hours of starlight. |
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A few brief hours of sun. |
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Day followed night at a dizzying pace. |
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Earth and sun were not alone |
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But cosmic visitors |
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until one cataclysmic encounter |
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transformed the heavens |
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One theory tells of a cosmic accident |
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a huge asteroid |
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It may have been the birth of the moon |
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and so many of |
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But first, the moon would have been |
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circling the planet like |
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before coming together into |
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Too small to hold a |
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the moon itself has long been |
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Without wind or rain |
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its face bears everlasting witness to |
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On the earth below, |
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an atmosphere was brewing from endless |
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and water vapor, |
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expelled from beneath the crust. |
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Closer to the sun, the precious water |
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On a colder planet it would be |
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But on the earth, |
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falling back as rain upon the land. |
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And so the first oceans were born. |
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Over millions of years, |
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But these were not the cool, |
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The primal atmosphere provided |
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It had no blanket of ozone |
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Virtually unobstructed, |
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the sun's unforgiving rays seared |
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Much closer than now, |
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tugging at the seas with a force |
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The first tides were mountains |
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Torn by sun and moon, the surface |
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Still, there was sanctuary below. |
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In the ocean, the first building |
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They incubated in water heated by |
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and fed on a bubbling broth |
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straight from the heart of the earth. |
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But even the ocean's depths were not |
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In a galaxy still littered |
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asteroid strikes may have vaporized |
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More than once, life on earth |
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Yet the fire and rains of creation |
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and the oceans rose again. |
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Life has proven stubborn here. |
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Some three billion years ago, as the |
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new forms appeared, the heralds |
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In quiet, sheltered pools, |
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Colonies of single-celled organisms, |
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they thrived off abundant sunlight |
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And in their waste they left behind |
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This was the birth of photosynthesis, |
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a new, life-giving cycle |
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For countless millennia, |
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algae flourished in the brief days |
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And now the cosmic rhythms |
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Gradually, the moon and its tides |
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and the forces that bound planet and |
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The moon retreated to |
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still slipping imperceptibly |
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With the moon more distant, |
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Calmer waters bred more algae |
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And with the oxygen came ozone, |
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protection from the sun's |
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At last, the stage was set |
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Like the fire of a new sun, the spark |
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Still just single-celled plants, |
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but organisms far more complex |
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Within each was a genetic code |
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that reflected the rhythms |
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a biological clock |
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Daytime would be the time |
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Reproduction would be saved |
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Millions of years later, |
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this clock still synchronizes almost |
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From the depths of a steep-walled |
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in the South Pacific island of Palau, |
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a herd of underwater farmers |
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A swarm of jellyfish, |
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Without eyes, the jellyfish do not |
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They need it to grow their food |
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that flourish within their |
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Denied sunshine, |
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As the sun arcs overhead, |
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shadows of the surrounding walls |
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Just below, the jellyfish ferry their |
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keeping them always in the light. |
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When the sun sinks, |
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dropping down to the ocean floor |
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where the algae can find their own |
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Even without sight, the jellyfish will |
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In the surface waters of the oceans |
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most creatures take their cue |
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from the rhythm |
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Now, members of the night |
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Roused by light-sensitive cells that |
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these prickly browsers |
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Sea urchins find their prey |
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and their way around |
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Each night clouds of plankton rise |
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drawing out the coral who fish |
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A few, sharp-eyed fish operate by |
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Like a cat in the dark, the lionfish |
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The lionfish will slip into a crevice |
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eyes sensitive enough for half light |
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Daybreak brings the morning |
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Far more complex than jellyfish |
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most fish depend on sight to survive. |
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Without the sun they are virtually |
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to find their food, |
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A kaleidoscope of colors enhances |
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For the fish, stripe and hue holds |
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helping them to identify mates, |
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predators, and prey |
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Trailing twilight in its wake, |
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to harvest plankton when again |
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Sunlight fades, taking with it |
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and the day shift streams off the |
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And once again, |
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The line between light and darkness |
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as well as the creatures of the sea. |
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And even the land and sea themselves |
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breathe with the rhythms |
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Given off by day, |
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and condenses in the night air. |
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From earth, through plants, |
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and back to the earth again |
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the endless cycles of replenishment |
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The plants of this Australian |
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have been in tune with the rhythms |
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Here, an acacia tree wakes up |
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Like a sundial in the trees, |
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across the forest floor marks |
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A shifting pool of light holds |
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Sunbathers under the leafy canopy, |
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many plants collect much of their |
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A boastful bird takes this spotlight |
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In the dark, his finery is invisible, |
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Only by day can the male riflebird |
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His appearance, like a feathered, |
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has been calculated by evolution to |
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A vibrant, sunlit display, |
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as crisp as the snapping of a fan. |
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The last hours before sunset often |
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Once the sun fails, |
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most birds will lose their powers |
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They gorge in preparation |
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Color and flair are an advertisement |
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Their brightly hued fruit |
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and with the feast the cycle of life |
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For after eating, |
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the birds will spread the seeds |
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While most creatures of the air |
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others like fruit bats, are tuned to |
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All day they had been invisible, |
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saving their energy against |
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Now twilight signals to them, |
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The bats scramble and take control of |
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Millions crowd the sky, |
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Foraging in darkness, |
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the bats have turned to senses |
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They navigate the night by sound, |
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until they find a likely spot |
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By moonlight, |
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to attract visitors' perfume. |
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Little is more savory to these bats |
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than the scent of |
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And once they take their fill, |
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they carry seeds everywhere they fly, |
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assuring the future of |
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The rising moon offers |
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cooling relief from the heat |
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And many creatures bide their time |
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Other mammals have also learned |
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to maneuver through the midnight air, |
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With their built-in parachute, |
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a sugar glider can span the length |
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It may seem a bold leap of faith, |
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but they're only following |
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By smearing their scent |
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they blaze invisible trails |
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Their search for insects, sap, |
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carries the gliders into the night. |
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Like bats, they survey the dark |
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This evening harvest keeps |
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safe from the predators of day. |
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Instinct warns them to be back |
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before sharp-eyed hawks and eagles |
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For millions of years, |
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In prehistoric days dominated by |
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took advantage of the relative safety |
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But the days when mammals were forced |
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to hide from the coning of the light |
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Now, in rain forests round the world, |
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you'll find agile tree-toppers ready |
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and willing to celebrate their place |
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These proud primates, |
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inaugurate each day |
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staking their claim to the trees |
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Higher still cling their smaller |
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With few natural enemies |
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Grasping hands and feet give them |
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And evolution has given them |
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stereoscopic vision. |
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It gives them the ability to judge |
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And invaluable skill |
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when hurtling through the treetops |
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Somewhere deep |
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the human line diverged from |
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And even if we no longer get to |
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we still share common genes |
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and an attachment to |
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It's programming imprinted on us both |
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and its cold celestial partner. |
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Lunar rhythms cast long shadows |
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Though the mile-high tides of creation |
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the rise and fall of the oceans |
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From 240,000 miles away, |
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enough to carve the coastline |
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Four times a day, |
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always retreating, always returning. |
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It's a force both destructive |
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Many creatures thrive here, on the |
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On gentler shorelines, |
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it leaves behind a feeding ground |
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The lull between high tides |
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a race against the lunar clock. |
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These scavengers must |
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Sand-bubbler crabs pick food |
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sorting out trapped particles of |
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They leave behind |
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It's a temporary testament |
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Combing the territory |
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they scar the sand with their tracks, |
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each lone scavenger attending to |
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Other creatures march boldly forward |
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Soldier crabs sweeping the shore |
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Mostly males, |
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exhausting each plot of land |
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An army of crabs, |
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But no army can defend against |
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The crabs' parade grounds |
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by the time the tide marches back |
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As water replaces land, those |
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Here the moon is mistress. |
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She sets the rhythm of life |
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low tide is time to eat; |
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Wading birds make the best of life |
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Stilts for legs let them follow the |
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Beyond the sandy shore, |
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through the clutching fingers, |
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Here in the muddy flats, |
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preparing for the tide's return. |
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For these engineers, |
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is to batten down the hatches |
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They'll wait out the flood submerged |
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Like wading birds, the mangroves |
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The rhythm of the tides beats |
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For whenever the tide is low, |
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the shore's inhabitants |
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by sunlight, moonlight, |
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Behind this constant ebb and flow |
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a cadence that for many, |
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This is the lunar cycle, |
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the month-long dance of earth, |
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that paints the changing faces |
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Twice each month, |
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the sun and moon conspire |
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At the new moon and at the full, |
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the gravity of both our star |
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lifting the tide to its |
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In between, |
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This monthly cycle of tides touches |
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in a place deeper then the daily |
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A pair of male parrot fish swirl around |
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Their competition is a sure sign |
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This dance heralds the |
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When the full moon tide begins to ebb, |
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With the tug of the ebb tide, |
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Thousands of fish, male and female, |
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casting clouds of eggs and |
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One breed's spawn is another's feast. |
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Predators join the tumult, |
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But the spawning fish know |
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They have fertilized tens of |
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Millions will escape, pulled out to |
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At high water, the surf storms back |
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sweeping schools of tiny fish |
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A silvery cloud flashing on |
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For many, this will be |
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Trapped in quiet, |
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they make easy prey for hunters |
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Moon, fish, and birds all whirling |
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This black-naped tern lives a life |
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On the shore, females have laid |
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and some have already begun |
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While one bird minds the nest, |
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These seabirds time their breeding |
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washed into the lagoon |
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Now is the time to eat heartily. |
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Soon the chicks will hatch. |
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And soon the moon will come |
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the tides again filling the shallows |
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All in time to feed newly-hatched |
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Although barren herself, |
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the moon prompts the sexual life |
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both above and below the surface. |
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Just after the full moon, the corals of |
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In a week, the tides will reach |
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And over 200 different |
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will launch their seed into |
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In the still water, |
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time for eggs and sperm |
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and create a new generation. |
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Sea worms, |
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cast off their tails, |
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Writhing bags of sex cells, |
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the castoffs dance among a veritable |
00:38:13 |
These celebrations are orchestrated |
00:38:17 |
the distant dance of the solar system. |
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Like the moon, |
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in rhythms slower than |
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Around this star journeys the earth |
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initiating the cycle of the seasons, |
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from south to north, and back again. |
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Even at the poles, |
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with the shimmering aurora, |
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In the Antarctic, |
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the cycle of the seasons becomes one |
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Here six months of sunlight are followed |
00:39:16 |
summer followed by winter. |
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Even in the extremes of Antarctica, |
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Throughout the dark |
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each male emperor penguin |
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Hardly moving, never hunting, |
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In temperatures reaching 70 below, |
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they huddle together for warmth |
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In a land where evening lasts for six |
00:40:08 |
Finally the penguin chicks will hatch, |
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they will be desperate for food. |
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Males can lose nearly half their body |
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But help is on the way. |
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Mother's coming. |
00:40:32 |
For months, they have been feeding |
00:40:44 |
Nature's biological clock is |
00:40:47 |
The females seem to sense the exact time |
00:40:52 |
for they have a huge trek |
00:40:56 |
Even tired and hungry, the males |
00:41:01 |
Temperatures on the ice |
00:41:03 |
Babies left exposed too long will die. |
00:41:19 |
The guard successfully changed, |
00:41:23 |
to head to the sea, |
00:41:29 |
The chicks will be fed by mother |
00:41:31 |
and kept warm until the sun |
00:41:45 |
Ever and always, |
00:41:47 |
depends on the swing of the earth |
00:41:51 |
and as it reels on its tilted axis. |
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As the earth spins through the year, |
00:42:05 |
the sun's strongest rays sweep across |
00:42:15 |
Near the equator, |
00:42:16 |
the angle of the sun's rays |
00:42:20 |
Still, it's enough to give the tropical |
00:42:24 |
the cycle of drought and flood, |
00:42:31 |
September in Australia. |
00:42:36 |
The air above the baking northern |
00:42:39 |
With it comes cloud banks full of |
00:42:45 |
The wheeling clouds bring drama, |
00:42:55 |
They are not rainmakers, |
00:43:05 |
The monsoons are still months away. |
00:43:16 |
Even so, deep in their nature, |
00:43:18 |
plants and animals seem |
00:43:33 |
A new cloud stirs-plant suckers rising |
00:43:46 |
What looks like the bark of a tree |
00:43:50 |
a frill-necked lizard, |
00:43:53 |
For months it rations energy, |
00:44:12 |
Wallabies are rainy day lovers. |
00:44:14 |
While they wait for the wet season, |
00:44:30 |
Now even the plants take a chance |
00:44:34 |
greening with fresh leaves. |
00:44:40 |
Soon, all their preparations |
00:44:49 |
The wet, the season of the rains |
00:45:28 |
From deep in their shadowy castles, |
00:45:30 |
colonies of termites rouse |
00:45:37 |
One storm brings another, |
00:45:46 |
They take to the air by the millions, |
00:45:48 |
in the quest to found new colonies |
00:45:56 |
And as always, the rhythms of one |
00:46:04 |
Wide-eyed possums in the trees, |
00:46:08 |
end the fasting of the dry months |
00:46:25 |
At the end of their migration, |
00:46:30 |
Many will fail to ever find a mate |
00:46:41 |
With the coming of daylight, there |
00:46:48 |
Conservative no more, the |
00:46:51 |
storing up protein for |
00:46:56 |
But it may face competition |
00:47:03 |
Undaunted, the lizard takes his fill, |
00:47:20 |
The green ants do it differently, |
00:47:31 |
Both species tend to the harvest with |
00:47:39 |
Little disturbs the teamwork of ants. |
00:47:42 |
They scavenge night and day, |
00:47:49 |
At the peak of the rainy season, |
00:47:51 |
the storms are now more than |
00:48:01 |
But their only choice |
00:48:18 |
Like the rhythm of the tides, |
00:48:22 |
shape life for every plant |
00:48:36 |
Not one of them can stop the rain, |
00:48:41 |
no more than the fish command |
00:48:50 |
One creature only dares |
00:48:59 |
the bold and restless dreamer |
00:49:01 |
hunter, builder, man. |
00:49:11 |
But even in our cars and castles, |
00:49:21 |
Dawn and the sun summons us to work. |
00:49:29 |
We swarm like schools of fish |
00:49:32 |
flashing to feed and mingle |
00:49:49 |
Beneath the canopy of urban forests, |
00:49:52 |
we hunt and gather |
00:50:07 |
And dusk still calls us home again |
00:50:10 |
a flock of birds |
00:50:24 |
But over the millennia, |
00:50:25 |
we have learned |
00:50:27 |
with fires of our own design. |
00:50:31 |
We strain against the boundaries, |
00:50:33 |
reshaping the border |
00:50:39 |
We create our own complex orbits, |
00:50:41 |
drawn to the sky |
00:50:56 |
Yet finally, |
00:51:00 |
man is still just a player |
00:51:05 |
Hour by hour, year by year, |
00:51:08 |
the cosmic clock |
00:51:14 |
Seasons turn. |
00:51:15 |
Tides rise and fall. |
00:51:18 |
One generation passes on to the next. |
00:51:23 |
Nothing lasts forever, |
00:51:30 |
Night by night, |
00:51:33 |
the earth will slow on its axis. |
00:51:37 |
The moon will drift yet further away. |
00:51:43 |
Days will lengthen, |
00:51:48 |
Billions of years from now, |
00:51:49 |
the seemingly endless cycles |
00:51:53 |
as the fires of creation at last |
00:51:57 |
Yet ours is but one small star, |
00:52:02 |
in a universe beyond measure. |
00:52:05 |
Perhaps there are other |
00:52:07 |
unseen by our eyes, |
00:52:09 |
yet as grand and majestic |