We were all very excited. This would be the first time we came in contact with the world outside of the orphanage since we had been accepted inside. It was scary and exhilirating. Many dreamt the night before about the praise and adulation and the cheering they would recieve. I dreamt about my mother's eyes.

The day was hot and clear and brilliant. We were lead out to the large park that served as an entrance to the Orphanage. We were riding in cars, the ones I told you about, and we were shielded by any chance contact with gawkers or reporters by the thick and stately trees lining the road toward our ceremony. These thick trees had grown with me. In 12 years they had doubled their size. Their trunks like giant elephant legs, their canopy spread out like the night sky, vast and streaked with light. I could feel their size like a weight on my soul. Their weight announced them as the elders of Mars. With their height they announced their eternity. It was as if time slowed down underneath their limbs. As if they drank from time like men drink water. They sucked out sound and replaced it with awe. My soul felt them, and desired their peace.

In moments we were behind the stadium that would hold our graduation.