Before getting started with tonight's entry, I wanted to wish everyone a safe and happy late winter. Many are still without power; others, with no safe way to leave their homes.

This morning my wife asked me if we had any birdseed for her bird feeder out back. When we realized we had none, and that the closest seed would be at the Publix about 2-ish miles away, I offered to go get some for her. Of course, three inches of snow had just dropped upon us and the roads were relatively icey, so I decided to walk. Besides, anyone who has been snowed in with a small child knows the power of an hour or so of not being snowed in with a small child.

After bundling up well and grabbing a thermal bag from the car (to make carrying back easier on the return trip), I set off. I had a mission to obtain not only seed, but some fruit, fruit juice, a toothbrush, and a few other bits for the house. Those reading this post with a literature background should by now recognize the genre upon which I had embarked; this quest would not take me "ainda além da Taprobana", but only to the corner store for some supplies.

So, bag in hand and winter hat on (no, not a "bacía", just a hat) I charged down the neighborhood toward the main road. Shortly there upon I remembered just how hard it was to trod through snow and keep my socks relatively dry. By the time I reached the main road, after a steep incline which would be challenging even in April, I could heard a voice in my head clearly begging "vou-me embora para Pasárgada" - this would be quite the trip.

Given the relatively simple nature of this voyage by foot I found many distractions which almost took me off the wanted path. At several points I would stop to hear the birds chirping to each other, the snow falling off tree branches, and the occasional sound of a car attempting vainly to navegate some neighborhood hill somewhere. One moment, in particular, brought me both joy and pain: I stopped at the downhill slope next to an undeveloped piece of land and looked out into the trees. I could see the green, white-topped branches moving gracefully in the breeze, as would ocean waves on a calm day. The air had the faint scent of cold rain, the sound was close to silence. It was there that I felt a sudden urge to go into the woods, to find what was giving me that wonderous sense of calm. I took one step, then another, until I realized that I was walking into snow untouched by any of the previous passers-by. I remembered then what the quest was about. You may or may not reach your intended goal, but that is secondary. The true lesson of the quest is an internal one, a moment of growth brought about through the hardships of the voyage. In that sense, by leaving the path for a minute and becoming part of such a place at such a time, I renewed myself and came to a new and enlightened state. It was not mystical, but mythic, for it did not bring me illumination but humility before my yet unseen world. Camões' narrative voice had seen this, and knew that it was a greater life than any ever known before:

De sorte que Alexandro em vós se veja,
Sem à dita de Aquiles ter enveja.

In that sense, my quest had both just begun and was over. I could continue my journey in peace, which I did, and at its end had a happy family and a happy me.