Issue link: http://www.e-digitaleditions.com/i/812511
snow. As across the vast catch-basin of the open bay, the squalls collected their might, and the heavy, white- capped swells heaved and wallowed before their dominion, to slam their anger against the battered shores. Above Whiskey Creek Point, vast and swelling congregations of waterfowl restlessly rode the gales midst the gun- metal skies, stacked and swirling as the snow in a towering tornadic cloud. Descending, flock after flock, in seemingly endless, concentric waves to the storm-tossed waters below. Circling and stooping, to gabble and gorge on the wild celery beds at the confluence of the creek and the bay. Having completed one more revolution in its timeless gravitational dalliance with the Sun and the Moon, the Earth spun on in its ordained mission to complete the next. While upon its surface, all of life had fought one more day and night to survive. Life had fought, and by the wit of its reckoning life had lived and life had died. And at the crux of it all, was love. Love of life, love of another. And that was ever the way. Of which, in the impassive logic of nature, there was neither notice or grief. So long as the species survived. Those who survived simply gained the ultimate right and obligation to strive again tomorrow, and tomorrow, and it remained beyond their power to ultimately determine the outcome. That is given to chance, which is itself griefless, and those that live on are conditioned never to expect or venture otherwise. If there is to be such a metaphysical thought as worry, grief, or joy, it must resonant among the living as an ephemeral property, for the procession and price of living do not suffer otherwise. And we find ourselves both fortunate and unfortunate, as a human condition, that—regardless—life imposes itself beyond time and demands the homage. In the destiny of Birley Caden, it would transpire within the very small sphere of being within which Lacy Caden, one single woman of billions . . . waited . . . enslaved to the eccentric coalition of fate and time. With no resolution other than to trust and hope and pray. And, however came the end, to survive. n 87 • S P O R T I N G C L A S S I C S