GOING WEST

1 0 9 R G O I N G W E S T R O B E R T M O R G A N When I was very young I thought if I could walk to the horizon, go all the way, that I’d be free. Beyond would be a di√erent world with di√erent trees and di√erent paths and di√erent animals and toys. If I could only get away and keep on walking I’d arrive where everything was new, where sun would plunge below to swim around and reappear behind to soar again, and rivers bubbled from their seeds and rainbows could be touched and followed to their treasure hoards. All would be possible if I just got beyond the garden fence, beyond the hedge, beyond the river, beyond the ridge, beyond my languor. ...