There once was a woman who could see men’s thoughts, a great deal of joys and terrors she saw. Seeking virtuous minds to confide in, she traveled. Two decades she had wandered before she peered into the stoney eyes of a stoic stranger and saw a windy world of dark. He stood as a king upon a cliff, guarding an ancient rook against the waves of a broken brook. There he held his own vices prisoner, lest they be let free to rule over him. The brine stung his dry face as his gaze unhinged the horizon, seeking an inextinguishable light beyond the clouds that engulfed his earth. Upon this sight, the woman could not bare to keep silent. “Will you hope for ever?” She cried. And he replied: “Perhaps only until the day I die.”
