It occurs to me that the root of all of these coincidences is me. Maybe I should leave this place, rather than just keep being surprised that everyone here is from the same place I’m from. I think this is my clue that I’ve been here too long, and all of these people have too.
There are invisible wolves that chase us, through our whole lives. These are the wolves that raise us. They are our pack. And these are the wolves that will hunt and kill us, howling in mourning while they do so. Of course, my Father doesn’t see it that way. He doesn’t see anything at all. He is going blind.