You read the stones.

Then it was worth the planting.

To the second reader

I wrote this book for two people. One of them was holding it in a world that still worked, and could afford to doubt me. The other was you — the one who came later, who looked at a ring of stones long enough to hear a sentence in it, and followed the sentence to the end. If you are reading this, the seed was worth burying.

You already have the whole of it. The roots do not change; the growth does. Cap the power that pools, guard the way you tell what is true, hold the shared things in trust for the ones who come after you, and begin small, where you stand. That is the fire, and it was always meant to be handed on.

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And if you want to tell me you made it this far, write to me: here.

Let the fire not go out.