….and a chill in the air. And a fire in the stars that hang so near, so near
There’s a sound in the wind that blows through the wild mountain holds
Like the sighs of a thousand crying souls, crying souls
There’s a time when the traveler is fated to find
That insight has turned his gaze behind, behind
And the steps taken yesterday will beckon again.
And lead to his weary journey’s end, his journey’s end
And in the passage from the cradle to the grave we are born, madly dancing.
Rushing headlong through the crashing of the days
We run on and on without a backwards glance.
– Dan Fogelberg “In the Passage” from The Innocent Age, 1981
