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love welled up within the man until it pained him to feel it. He stood tall and he stood proud and he looked across
the valleys and into the distance, toward the sea and beyond that, to the point where the sea was no more. Centuries
flowed through him, the thoughts and plans of a thousand men were his thoughts and plans. Their loves were his
loves. Their fears were his fears. Their wondering was his wondering. Their mysteries were those that had haunted
him for as long as he could remember.
He looked up at the stars and in them were the secrets of the ancients. The unknowable
resided there. Those stars had seen sadness and they had seen joy. They had seen strength and they had seen weakness.
They had witnessed every question ever asked, every quandary ever posed.
And suddenly the man felt humbled. He felt powerful and he felt insignificant.
He felt large and he felt small. He felt happy and he felt sad. His tears were tears of joy and they were tears
of sorrow. For his was a world of such magic, such mystique, such complete and all consuming greatness that he
could not hope to answer these questions, nor did he wish to.
He turned to his woman and he held her to his breast. She smelled his beard and
pressed her body against his. And as they held one another in the night, the moon smiled down on them and it lighted
them in its benevolent glow. They were the lovers of ages gone by. Their hopes were the hopes of ages past. Their
dreams had been dreamed before. Their dreams would be dreamed again.
 
A hundred years on, the same man, perhaps a little taller, a little fairer, a little
younger, held his woman and looked up at the stars. And once again, the same stars bore witness to the birth of
a vision. It was a vision that had lived in the hearts of a thousand men.
It was a vision that had been visited before and it was a vision that would be
visited again.
   
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