I took a walk, headed out to who knows where. I walked and walked, and the seasons changed; I watched the sun revolve and the flowers blossom and wilt, and the snow fall, fall, fall. My walk did not end, and all the things I saw, I remember, and all the voices too. That walk became its own purpose, its own meaning . . . it was the only thing I understood. . . that all there was was to walk, one foot in front of the other . . . no path, only movement, all around, and onwards, onwards.