Close quarters on our way to find the fields of Elysium under sun or rain or starry skies. The blade about your finger unbroken, untouched by the locusts and the sands of time finally passing less painfully, or at least in the direction of life.
"Home is ever so far away in the palm of your hand, and how to get there it is of no use to tell you. But you will get there; you must get there; you have to get there. Everybody who is not at home, has to go home."