One

Vincent Miles sat on the low stone seawall feeling
wholly restored. To what exactly he had been restored,
he couldn't say. He only sensed that he had felt like this
before-light and content and nothing more. If he tried
to picture something more, then he would surely see a
world of sorrow and doubt. There was none of that here,
not now. The view was everything and everything was
the view. From here he could only move on, to some
kind of summit, a climax coming his way. . . .