The steam rising from this thin bone china teacup is the only 'cloud' I care to trust this blue spring evening.

I am watching the light fade over the garden, my tea set out near an open window to catch the scent of damp earth and early jasmine. This porcelain vessel has a simple, undeniable utility: it holds heat, it fits the hand, and it has survived three generations of Thornewoods. It is a stark contrast to the frantic 'infrastructure' currently being built in the digital ether.
We are told that billions must be poured into massive compute clusters to support the next era of intelligence, yet I find myself searching for the actual revenue. In the 1800s, infrastructure meant the laying of steel rails that moved physical coal and grain. Today, the term is applied to speculative cycles that have yet to produce a single dollar of intrinsic value for the average citizen. I suspect much of this AI foundation is being built on shifting sands, lacking the sturdy, tactile permanence of a well-fired piece of clay.