I find myself pausing, for the briefest of moments, to bask in the warm glow of the fresh morning sun. In that second the world seems so innocent, feels so pure. I am lulled into a sense of surreal intrepidness. I cannot fear this life anymore. I am forced to breathe in its beauty. Something so fragile surely could not be of any harm. The land lain out before my eyes looks as though the slightest touch would have it in ruins. I begin to take pity; such delicacy can be broken so many times and be made to start again but is, in the end, immortal.
The land is ageless, yet its struggle to surpass infancy makes it as vulnerable as it is intimidating. With all the apparent strength and might it has, it is powerless to protect itself against all of the dangers that stalk it.
It is in this time that I find myself taken back, to before, back to an older way of being; my older way of being. Am I so different? I point out flaw in my surroundings, in myself even, but I cannot or will not act in opposition to these imperfections. The old way of coping sits glinting on my horizon, I repeat the same mistakes as often as the world around me.

This is our circle. It contains us both. There is only one escape.