I could not longer keep my arms around the protean world; I had to find something more constant. I had to find that place where things remain where you leave them, where once I stepped over a fallen tree and fully expect to step over it again. It was several years ago when my dad first took me up to Jacks River fishing, and I have found my way back on numerous occasions since. That area has become for me something fixed — something that helps me to separate what is constant from what is transient. This weekend I hiked up to set another baseline against which more change becomes possible. My journey to Mekkah is littered with fallen trees.