“The enduring is something that must be accounted for. One cannot simply shrug it off.”
—Walker Percy

Mornings just keep coming. And even if I protested by laying up in the palmettos and staying put for a few days, eventually I’d have to get up and move along. No matter what happens to me, how this thing I’ve become evolves under the sun, or doesn’t, there’s always hope to find somewhere, or mad scientists to thwart, or government men to corral, or folks to save from disaster (self-generated or not). I mean, just look at this coastline. Salt water chews on it every single day. It loses pieces of itself, recedes toward the marsh, slowly but with absolute certainty. And yet its reeds keep singing in the wind, and its cypress branches reach for sun each day. Even if we all think we know how its story ends, the coast holds its line. Strong and resolute. Who am I to wake and not do the same?