Up. Up. I strain my eyes against the endless sky seeking shapes in clouds, painted lines of silver rim these alabaster dreams. I can feel the wind rise soft against my back, urging me forward, one stumbling step at a time, as I catch my stride. Up. Up I bend, towards horizons well beyond my view. The rumble of thunder warns me that I am not without peril. That the path I have chosen comes with its dues. It is this awareness that gives me pause. Like Lot, I must deny the urge to look back. I must seek refuge in the cave of my thoughts; that which has become my home. And so upward I bend, upon my shoulders I rise, towards peaks and inevitable valleys I strive. Up. Up. I will crest the heavens, I will nestle among the stars. As long as I live I shall climb. If my back should break, let me lay my face towards the sky, that it may pique my ceaseless wonder. And when my time comes, I will give my last breath to the wind, begging it to take me higher still. Up. Up. Forever upward.