"You will never be alone", he hears so deep a sound when spring finally arrives. Yellow pulls across the hills and thrums, and the silence echoes as the sky is still and cloudless - almost offering an apology for all that came before. He was aimed from birth: he will never be alone. The sun will come, glazing his checks and leaving a calming redness. Then comes a warming bliss, to offer sweet long aisles of which he never heard so deep a sound, moss on rock, and years. He turns his head, that's what the silence meant: he is not alone. The whole wide world looks down on him.
Every person in this world has convictions about right and wrong. They are our soul's riches, our spiritual gold. And when our conduct is at variance with these, we know that it is a departure, a falling; and this is a simple and clear matter. If falling were all that ever happened to us, though, all our days would be a simple matter of striving and repentance. But it is not all. We stumble upon certain junctures, crises, when life, like a highwayman, springs upon us, demanding that we stand and deliver our convictions in the name of some righteous cause, bidding us do evil that good may come.
