Life goes from one outcropping to the next – a station, a temporary vista, a place where the illusion of permanence is first denied, then grasped, then accepted and finally lost – one after the other, never at rest, requiring great skill and effort to move from one to the next, sharp rocks and steep falls and all kinds of other dangers besides, sun beating and wind blowing and rocks cutting into hands, high cliffs and narrow winding paths and thirst and hunger and tiredness, all to stand at some spectacular views for a little bit, a succession that goes up and down and around. Taken together, at the end, we exhale and remember the vistas fondly – and say to ourselves – that was a life.