There is a wilderness underfoot and I hear the branches crunching... Somewhere, the deer are watching me, in soft, silent contemplation. There is a shore nearby; the hush of waves draws closer. It leaves me wondering only: when will my pilgrimage end? Along the way, in this exile, sunlight survives through the branches In muted forms that cast a glow upon the trees. And the mosses, they point me north. Here and there there are clearings; and once even I found my way to a spring. They tell me a City lies beyond, just at the edge of the blue and the green, on fine sands where forest leads to ocean. I trek on, ever watchful. It could be I am just around the bend.