I’ve lived a rugged life. 

But to lay my head upon warm stone and lay back in the sun.

But to run and thirst and satisfy that thirst only for one more run.

But to take delusion by the horns and wrestle it to the ground.

But to watch the storms roll in, lay siege, and with full fury pound.

But to gaze upward into the clear night sky in wonder of all the restless sights.

But to impose my will upon myself and defeat the enemy without a fight.

Without a fight, you ask?

Have you never heard that she who conquers herself has slain the equivalent of ten thousand enemy upon the battlefield?

And, of course, the sky is restless.  O inconstant moon, Juliet?  O fusion stellar dynamos ever pulsing bright, dear Montague?

Never seen an F5, half a hell-mile wide?  Or run in the forest with lightning striking all around, branches falling ahead and behind?

What happens when you realize the intimacy is fatuous after all?   Back to the forest?

Or just lean against an old tombstone and let Sol play you solitaire?