Pilgrim: What is it that you do here?
Monk: We fall, and we get up again.
In time, even the slowest pilgrim might
articulate a turn. Given time enough,
the slowest pilgrim—even he—might
register some small measure of belated
progress. The road was, more or less, less
compelling than the hut, but as the benefit
of time allowed the hut’s distractions to attain
a vaguely musty scent, and all the novel
knickknacks to acquire a fine veneer of bone-
white dust, the road became then somewhat more
attractive, and as the weather made a timely
if quite brief concession, the pilgrim took this all
to be an open invitation to set out.