We are here at the westernmost boundary to prove a point: That the new's not the be all end all. Something's to be said for the go down, something that leads back around. I mean to point out the flat rocks. When the last rays hit them, they turn red. It's the blood of the sacrificed, you know. Not to be missed. Or denied.
When we first reached this point we didn't know it. Were you here today? Did you arrive expecting something? Was it good? Was it an arrival? We expected arrival. A finality and a summing up. It never came. Instead came the long look back at cost and payment, payment and cost. The total rendered transaction. Hardly worth it.
Shall we turn and watch the sun go down?