―Eduardo Galeano

No plastic wrappings or packaging

Deliberative/truly democratic

Decolonial/pluriversal

Energy - heat, airships, repurpose mines for storage of renewable energy.

Forest cities, eco-system, human population stabilises, multi-faceted kinship groupings.

Non-violent democratic revolution.

Pharmacy

Military and surveillance

Fossil fuels

2). Circular economy: Repair culture, repair culture competencies

3). Future Chronicles: spider web - clothes; kinetic energy

4). Non-humans: we will notice them more

5) Devices: light weight

6). Finance: the rich will not be venerated

7). Worldviews: multifaceted

8) libraries: ancient knowledge; places of learning; open mines - farms

9) quieter, collaborative and less competitive; no more neoliberalism; we can see the night sky clearer

Consider the language you’re using

Consider what you and your students can resist, refuse, reimagine right here and now

Find a way to treat this as 'real', rather than as an add-on to university operations that can be used as a marketing tool.

Is there more that could be done?

What cultures do we learn from to do this better/more?

Where do we take inspiration from?

The Piano Tree

At the edge of town, where streetlights flicker and brambles push through fences, an old woman stepped into the woodland. Autumn wrapped around her—amber air, crunch of conkers underfoot, acorns tumbling like tiny thuds of memory. 

Then: piano music. 

Rising through mist and mycelium, the melody curled through the trees. She followed it to the clearing where the piano stood—half-wood, half-wild. Moss bloomed on its legs. Ivy threaded the keys. 

The town began to arrive. Children with muddy cheeks. Teenagers rolling their eyes, then softening. Grandparents with stories folded into their skin. They gathered round the piano as foxes slipped through ferns and owls blinked from above. 

And the worms began to sing—yes, the worms—low, vibrating rhythms from beneath the earth. 

They wiggled with joy, spreading love in the soil. “Lovers,” someone laughed, “the Viagra of the woodland!” 

They danced. They sang. They shared stories of foggy mornings, broken hearts, and hedgehogs no one had seen in years. Someone whispered the name of a moth now rare, another spoke of toads, of beetles, of songs lost with the nightjar. 

Acorns cracked open near their feet. Life, still daring.

In that moment, under the tree’s old gaze, the forgotten were remembered. The forest, the people, and the worms hummed the same tune. 

And the woman smiled. “This,” she said, “is how we protect what matters.”