The fist line
Being in the second line is easy, though to the outside eye it looks like more work. It is certainly more energetic, but it is easier by far on the soul. All you have to do is be happy, and that is no chore in the middle of that dancing, singing, colourful throng, praising your way along the road and binging life and joy to the quiet places. Much harder by far to be a part of the first line, which allows the second to exist. To walk silently though the dark, all pride and poise with a wooden pole in your hand and a sombre banner above your head. The all-together slow-step march, where the only music is the beat of your feet on the street, and you must mourn the sorrows that have gone before, give them due reverence before they are chased away.
There are compensations though, the trees whisper approvingly as you pass, and bow in respect. Wood appreciates sorrow and gravity.
There are compensations though, the trees whisper approvingly as you pass, and bow in respect. Wood appreciates sorrow and gravity.