Jake say alone at the counter of the Tim Horton's, sippin on an Ice Cap, wallowing in self pity. He was ashamed of all he had said and done. George wasn't such a bad guy. He hadn't deserved all that. The thought of the pictures of what Belize and the monkey had done to that man still sent shivers down Jake's spine.

Once more Jake stared up into the valley, triangle shaped, heavily wooded, framed by the convergence of mountains, locally called "The Mother's Legs" which, so lithe, strong and shapely, must have been held in place by the boundless stirrups of nature herself. The sun was crowning in the crack between the mounds. The water had broken. The flood had receded.

Weary, chastened, yet relieved and more sexually alive and self aware, Jake Tillington witnessed the birth of a new day.