The third spring held a festival for the gods. At this point I stood equal to Anaximander though he still often referred to me as son, or child. The warmth was welcome. Leto and Callicles had both become good friends.
By the third winter things had calmed down. I had built a larger addition to my shack so I could cook indoors. Furthermore, after the fiasco from the second winter I had always kept good rations of dried fish and fruit.
Things appeared good the snow fell and I was melancholy. This place, and its life was not easy but it was directly rewarding. In it I could find my bliss.
Those first years are not looked upon with remorse but instead regret. Regret for the things undone, time wasted, meals missed. It was not mean to be a time for preparing. It should have been a place for relaxing, a getaway yet little was as it should have been.