One's Vision must not be clouded by the sands of a desert storm, the winds of Poseidon, the fog of swamps, or the depth between a canyon's breadth.
Vision must shade from the pain of a storm, and push through the bite of cutting desert sand balding the skin. The swells of the land may swirl and move but the body can still track the topography below and the stars above.
Vision must hold forth when the fate of God turns His hand onto you. The wind and wet of rough seas can be survived.
Vision must be within one, seen and known, where no fog rising from swamps of darkness can blur.
Vision must peer across the canyon. Cut by water and time, the rupture in path is but another vision running perpendicular, deep and cut, rough and old, set and inhabited.
Vision can cut new path into old soil.