We march on.
Together, yet spread out, mankind is like an enormous caravan of travellers. We follow the same winding paths over and over, retreading the same ground upon which our parents walked; their parents.
Where we follow the grass has been worn away, but at the sides of the path it yet grows in abundance.
It is a marathon and it is exhausting. We pass through dark valleys and cross rivers. Our spirits are buoyed by those companions with whom we share the road. Sometimes people drop back, or move forward. Sometimes we must walk alone for a time.
The horizon looms, ever majestic. The setting sun spills light like a broken egg. It is still some way off yet. Like a rainbow it seems impossible to catch, although it never moves. The sun sets and the stars come out. And then it is another day.
Good morning, Monday.
Michael Scott Hand 