How many tens, hundreds, thousands, ten thousands, hundred thousands, millions of arrows will we shoot in a lifetime.
Boat loads of arrows.
Swimming in arrows.
Arrows like rain from the sky. Arrows like volcanic explosions.
Good arrows, bad arrows. Sometimes a lot. Sometimes infrequent.
Across all the worlds we travel, and all those we meet, those are our arrows.
Alone in the forest, sitting against a tree, looking at this single arrow.
One shot for no one else to see.
That arrow in the bullseye is mine.
Arrows in great multitudes. No one else’s but our own.