than guess at bearing north or south, he hiked east
toward the rising sun.
The fisherman ambled through the dunes for weeks,
yet he never tired, thirsted, or opened his mouth to utter
a syllable of grief or privation. He reached the
mountains at the edge of the desert and passed over
them with as little regard for the majestic scenery as if
he was blind.
He saw a forest in the distance and quickened his
stride. He knew he would find the river there and amend
his sorry future. All was not lost, not yet. There is hope.