The water is dark against the night sky, and in the distance the stars light the mossy pile of stones that is an island, the only land in sight, my own coastline having long since disappeared behind me.
It is cold. I am turned north, searching for something true. Perhaps the island is it, as it rears up in my path; perhaps this tumble of rock and patchy grass is the last bastion of truth.
But no. It is a mere signpost. I follow my compass—external, internal—and the island passes to my left. I am once again left wide open and alone on the water.
The stars are lanterns carried by angels. But where do they lead?