Life has no meaning unless one lives it with a will,
at least to the limit of one’s will.
Virtue, good, evil are nothing but words,
unless one takes them apart
in order to build something with them;
they do not win their true meaning
until one knows how to apply them.

by Paul Gauguin

XXIV

Tuco listened to the wind swirling around the cabin.
There was little sound
other than the bits of sand
hitting the wood in occasional rushes of force.
What does that wind build
as it wears away this canyon's wall?

Something builds somewhere
as this wears away.
That he thought was certain.
But,
maybe not.
Maybe the wind carries the worn away
to wear away more
somewhere else.

Tuco shrugged.
This was a circle
of thought
with no meaning
behind it.

Grasshopper
would be disappointed
in the energy spent
in his building nothing here.

Tuco turned again to the paper,
the map, and planning what to do
if he could not return to the river
and raft out of the canyon
tomorrow.