Liberties There's nothing Artificial about our Intelligence

The last time we ever spoke Missouri suburbs filled with snow and snowfall blotted out the oak beyond your buried patio. You’d never see another spring. Falls . . . confusion . . . vertigo . . .  Familiar landmarks vanishing, you stood up from your wheelchair. Where did you think you were going? Across the Firth of Forth to Fife, to a croft in Pittenweem—why there, a place that you would never see? Though stranded, at the end of life, you still had somewhere else to be.