alking at dusk across the dry field. Him and me. We have navigated the woods and reached the clearing. I turn and look back – big burning sun going down through the silhouetted branches – my life – burning, sinking with those black shadows. But where is HIS concern, HIS sympathy? It’s like he is burning out too.
He looked east – on the horizon the biggest clearest moon he had ever seen. She kept looking back, but he wouldn’t – couldn’t. He had to look forward. There must be somewhere. The moon would show him. It would show him the route he must take.
by Lloyd Mills