AND SO, IT CAME to pass in a fortnight that a baby girl, two geldings, a she-goat, and one so-called Deliverer set off on the long and onerous journey to the City of Rocks.

It was a relief to leave Independence behind. Even under these quixotic circumstances. It always felt good to part ways with streets and buildings and vile humanity in trade for open and unsullied country. A sense of opportunity came with such an action. A world of magic awaited. I was a poet again, and a ream of pure white paper lay rolled out before me. Now it was left only to my muse to urge me toward a heroic epic of the most lasting poesy. Surely mine was not dissimilar to the optimism that infected every pilgrim soul who ever took those first steps westward into the Wonders of Nature. They tossed their common sense. They all shared a refusal to abandon their most improbable hope. They all sought the end of that elusive and mythical rainbow arching over the elysian fields of their most childish dreams.

Of course, all those folks were perfect fools.

Every last one of them.

Myself, most indubitably, included.