What is made cannot always be unmade, but it can be broken.
Ahead of me is dry sand and blazing sun to the very edge of the world. I look back, to the strip of green with a pond nestled under the ample shade of a tree. My destination does not lie that way, and I shall not turn back. The middle is the dumbest place to quit.
Once you have lived alone for a century, you will talk to any living thing: A raven, a tree, a root, even a rock. A rock is not living, you say? Try telling that to the rock!
Do you see this irritating pebble? I step on it and it hurts my toe, but it does not break. It simply finds a new path in the shifting sands. If I throw it, likely it shall return to me tomorrow. Thus all the world must bow to this stubborn stone!