There was no horizon until a person came and stood between it and the next horizon along; the vertical human silhouette on the horizontal plane constituted the first intersection, the elemental crossing of paths still pursued by the chef when dropping croquettes in oil to fry, by 2 businessmen shaking hands to close a deal, by the mathematician testing out an equals sign between two equations. Until this moment the horizon had existed, simple and neutral, outside of time, which is why airplanes, which have no horizons, give an impression of weightlessness when they are in the air, moving directly from one nothing to another, in a time continuum that has no corresponding image in space, and this is why, too, the bubbles in fizzy water, with their vertical ascent, institute their own horizon until such time as the water freezes and the bubbles become fossils, trapped.