In the mouth of every  great unknowing,  nothing can help you  find the first, sure steps  into the landscape.  If there is a force that guards the fields— if there is a throat  that emits an electric  humming—  you won't hear  but feel it. The sun  is either directly  above or trapped  at the bottom   of an abyss, until the water shines a certain way  and it floats toward  a green cordon  of trees.  Don't look for signs left by pilgrims; for warnings   about turns that might keep  doubling back on  themselves. Think instead of how  you dreamed of a country, weather- carved and soil-softened, with paths that held up whoever set foot there.