One Thought, a Mortal Life · Stubborn and Foolish by Nature · 44 / 102
· Converging
On every side the empty land sinks into a cold blue-green; wind stirs the curtain of mist, and the Dragon Sands draw near. Can it be that in all my years of trudging there was no one else?
I raise a cup of clear snow and pour it out in libation, slip through caves and crevices, hail the gorge where it ends. I drive my carriage down into wind and thunder, thread my way through the perils, and turn them into the far edge of the world.
Glosses—
Dragon Sands: broadly, the sandy desert country beyond the frontier;
Trudging: the hard labour of journeying back and forth;
Wind and thunder: fierce wind and violent thunder.
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