Every step you take is another page in the book of your journey. So many steps and often so little to show for them. Where have you gone and what have you accomplished? All that walking is in vain. Seasons mark time. The sun crosses the sky. The tiny sapling becomes the towering tree. The wind blows mournfully keeping all its secrets. And what of it all? We come to become a pile of dust no matter how much we know, or how popular we are, or how much money we have in a bank someplace. We come so far yet few of us get beyond our starting point. We come from what we come from and then we return.