I’m compelled to say a little something about loneliness. Maybe only a little more and then a little less.
Bitten by that bug we must be, those of us who, neither by choice nor oversight, err from the track, nay, admit that we flee. A stray dog, a stray hair, a stray thread of curiosity – all fodder for nerves ending in teeth and continuity. Away goes the herd, but we not be the ones walking in place, watching the horizon shrinking, catching whiffs of perspicacity.
Geography surely must be an older field of study than theology.
Perhaps we’re only as lonely as far as lonely can see. None necessarily saddle up sidekicking and set off on the trail. But there are the living and breathing within reach of thee.
Geography surely must be an older instinct than breaking bread for unity.