Extending outward, further and further, it seems there must be a breaking point.  Perhaps it is assumed that life is a work of progressive tonality, but no one ever says it.  I'm still waiting for that familiar refrain to wrap itself around me.  But it or I or the space in between is moving and I'm awed by the reach we can sustain.  Such is memory, such is distance and time.  Moving forward, helplessly, an impossibility like a child's balloon traveling to the clouds, free and lost.