Tornomovtohr-noh-mawf

n. The weird hollowness of trying to imagine the distant future—struggling to place it in any context you'd find relatable. A word that looks like tomorrow from a distance but is actually something else you can't explain.

Nuclear engineers try to work out how to warn future generations to stay away from radioactive waste sites, where it won't be safe to dig for ten thousand years. Stainless steel signs will rust away, etchings in granite will be buffed clean by sandstorms. Any words or symbols will have lost their meaning by then, the Gregorian calendar replaced five times over.

It makes you wonder: If it seems impossible to pass a message beyond our own little neighborhood in time, impossible even to warn our descendants not to dig into poisoned ground, what relationship do we have to them?