He must have driven this way countless times, and yet he had no memory of the scenery. He must have been so caught up in the day's agenda, and arriving punctually at their destination, that the land beyond the car had been no more than a wash of one green, and a backdrop of one hill. Life was very different when you walked through it.

And it can take a lifetime, a life of many years, to accept the incongruity of things: that a small moment can sit side by side with a big one, and become part of the same.

He understood that in walking to atone for the mistakes he had made, it was also his journey to accept the strangeness of others.

The least planned part of the journey, however, was the journey itself.

If we don't go mad once in a while, there's no hope.

But maybe it's what the world needs. A little less sense, and a little more faith.

You got up, and you did something. And if trying to find a way when you don't even know you can get there isn't a small miracle; then I don't know what is.