The image of Sisyphus has been in the back of my mind forever, head and shoulders down, legs and back straining, grimly pushing that damn boulder up and up and up an endless hill. I make jokes about him, reference him to friends when one is trudging through an awful stretch, turn to the thought of him for a weird kind of solace when things feel unbearable. But I never thought of him this way before: A human being, drawn to something beautiful, something unexplainable, something that surely must be worth all the effort it’s going to take.

Mechanics of a Myth
– Mark. J. Mitchell

Sisyphus, aching under moonlight,
Looks down the mountain.
Something confuses him.
Fresh reflections are bouncing
Off a boulder or something
Way down in that valley.
It’s blue and beautiful.
He thinks, weary as he is,
“I ought to go get that.”

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