It’s good that the world has more beauty than it needs. It’s good to walk into the smooth Catskill night and discover that the night has no edges, no sympathy, no grievance against me, that any place I step will hold me firm, not like a lover, not like a child. It’s good to be a child, and then for years to be something else, and then something else. It’s a hard world but the rain is persistent, the deer are quiet and discreet, and for ages now the trees have known how to dream their way up. A man with a pack on his shoulder saunters down the path below me, knowing the lights he sees ahead are burning for him.