We fall from a mighty height into a benevolent river. We struggle against it, agitate it with waves of indiscretion, kicking up sand, dredging stones, whipping up mists that shall swallow the peaks of our newly-formed, mountainous terrain . . . And yet, though the nights are filled with fear; the crevices, eyes; the sea, the bitter flavor of decay; we can still hear the murmured sounds of morning beckoning to the last crest of our tide, long coming . . . and merrily redeeming.