We cross dark woods always in search of sunlight. Stragglers fall back and, once gone, are lost forever. We keep images of them and wear amulets in their name; and would even like to believe that they have merely gone to travel elsewhere, though we hold to this largely as a comfort, for we are sure of nothing and suspect that we may in fact be quite alone. For a while others join us, as if from nowhere, and take a turn at keeping us on the move, that being the sole thing of importance. For we know that to stop is to begin to weaken: through day and through night, we must press on.

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