 The pilgrimage continues. The first night, I stand inside the green, deep door, listening. I hear a vehicle stop, hear a car door close with a snug thud. I open the door when the soft sound of sold shoes on gravel tells me it's time. The door swings, silent as a snake. We nod curt greetings to each other, two men past me, each carrying a grasshopper-legged sprinkler.