A great eye overlooks the sea, the water's edge, the expanse of land that recedes into a soft mountain range. A great wing envelopes the scene, taking ownership of all that can be seen. In one sense, this world is great, so great, that every small being within it is diminished to the status of a non-entity. It is only up here in the sky, up close to the overlooking eye, that personality counts. But in another sense, this world is small, and precious, like a pebble found on a beach, slipped in a pocket, kept as a memento, and decades later still caressed and regarded as the most precious of objects. From up here, every tree is a bristle around the mouth of the Great Bird. Every wave, a feather's vane.
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