Let us walk, then, high in the Sierras before the earth is littered with complexity. We are sufficient and move our spirits into deep space where we praise the silent face of the universe. The silence obscures the sound of our feet gliding and stepping quickly over the thawed ground. Yes, nothing threatens us, not even the nature that could clamp down at any moment and extinguish us. Therefore, we whistle. We whistle high in the mountains, nearly drowning in the pure air with pure thoughts about pure sex and pure adventure and the purest death available to the animal. And we know that the universe has been created and what created the universe created us, a walker in the mountains and his silent companion; so that when we feel slightly impaled on a significance we express through mute and wild gestures, as though, a tribe of enemy men are climbing the hill to where the women are.