It is first light, the soul's awakening. Golden and shaded colors spangle your world. Heart, mind, leaf and bird all flutter to the same restless rhythm -life's rhythm. Your feet bounce without care upon the sticks and stones in the path. They laugh and scatter as quickly as they are forgotten.

Morning's shadows point long, towards this journey's end.

At noon the sun forgets the morning. Perhaps its you that's forgotten. Still the sun seems cruel with its all-powerful rays, bleaching the color from the day . A loud silence screams in your ears as the things you have seen, you see again. Things you have heard, you hear again. The stones mock your step, not injuring... but wearying you. And the sticks try to trip you as they whisper.

There are no shadows that point to anywhere.

What of the evening, when the soul must retire? Will it be here on this treeless plain? Will the dulling sun find only these sticks and stones upon which to cast shadows back, towards this journey's beginning?

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