Once there were rockets, distant worlds, undreamt of machines. I came up with dozens of bifurcating paths in the course of time, through strange gardens. Monks dwelt in misty valleys and went forth on quests with wisecracking Jesuits. A merchant recited age old hymns never written as he tracked along the banks of the Nile. The libraries of Alexandria bloomed and burned and rose again from the ashes. The old gods came in new forms to have congress with the homeless on college campuses.

It was all so easy to lose track of as the years past. Now the roads all merge. Behind me in the hedgerows I hear their voices holding forth. Will the bend in the road take me back in again, or will they follow?

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