What are the lessons of today? Are they informed by vague hungry phantoms, jaw-slacked, who burr on the tongue, that singular nothingness before an itch shows? The truths which form beneath your skin are those which would find more knowledge in some other knowing mouth, ready for digestion. Have you travelled far today, pilgrim? Have your feet insisted anything of worth upon the forest floor, or drawn up the simple truths already buried there? Did you subject yourself to rain for miles of wandering only to come out again as the clouds hurried to hide their shame behind the hills? Have you been troubled by the whims of the broken twig, the taxation of the wind's shanty breath? Take off your blindfold and watch as I give you a wave from a shadow you nearly tripped over. Give over your heart to me and my land. What have you learnt today, pilgrim?