I saw the waves crashing, and the familiar sadness that I’d felt that entire trip every time I looked out into the sea came over me again. In my mind, I was traveling across an epic dating back some five hundred years, when the first of us were carried off. Entire worldviews, systems of study, political movements, wars, and literature were birthed by that one act. And such deep suffering. Standing on that hill, I felt it all personally. My mind returned to Baltimore, to the sketch, to my father trying to read his way out.
