“My own plans are made. While I can, I sail east in the Dawn Treader. When she fails me, I paddle east in my coracle. When she sinks, I shall swim east with my four paws. And when I can swim no longer, if I have not reached Aslan’s country, or shot over the edge of the world in some vast cataract, I shall sink with my nose to the sunrise.”*

—Reepicheep

Narnia and this round world we live on seem a little alike these days. The prairie’s golden wheat stubble, the vines bursting with grapes, the canyon’s foggy renaissance, the ocean’s sifting winds and salty spray… One half expects to see the sail of the Dawn Treader on the skyline, or to catch a glimpse of a lion’s mane as golden as the prairies disappearing behind a tree. 

 Who knew summer’s dying could be so beautiful? But this is the paradox—every ending is a beginning. Every sad farewell is also the dawn of something new. 

The Dawn Treader has been sailing for several weeks. They’ve seen lands of darkness, islands of voices, places of perpetual sleep. But now, they know they must be getting closer.  Everyone on board experiences the same sensations. No one needs to sleep as often or as much. The light keeps getting stronger, the sun growing bigger every morning. The very end of the world is approaching. Everything they know is no longer sure. Reepicheep is quiet and awestruck at the water so clear he can see to the very bottom. 

 The light keeps growing, and no one wants to talk or sleep. They come to a land of white lilies; the fragrance is lonely and enticing. The sea gets more and more shallow, until finally, one day, the prow of the Dawn Treader runs aground. They have reached the utter east, and beyond this, Aslan’s country.

 Reepicheep stands on his tiptoes on the deck, peering into the distance. He looks directly into the rising sun and sees a mountain range so tall there’s no room for sky. Green, wooded mountains, and then the wind ruffles the waves and brings strains of music.

 Reepicheep knew this moment would arrive, when he has to go on, alone. He has never doubted it. But his chest has tightened and his mind run in dizzy circles. Will his eyes be able to bear the light? Will his coracle stay seaworthy? Will he be able to find Aslan’s country? Will he be lonely on his long journey? What if he lets down everyone who has always believed in him? 

 Now he stands on the deck and looks at the sea ahead of him. The water looks so dark, even in the light of the sunrise. The unknown is so scary. The known is so predictable, safe. But he can’t waver here between the two forever. Sometimes one has to be brave and just do the next right thing. The one thing he knows, is that whatever happens, “there are far, far better things ahead than any he leaves behind.”**

 Reepicheep lowers his coracle over the side of the boat. “This is where I go on alone.”**

 He says goodbye to his friends, the people who came with him this far. He takes his paddle and starts rowing, then the current catches him and he disappears into the sun. The lilies cover the ripples his coracle make in the water, and no one can tell the path he took. 

The Canada geese fly in V formations across the crisp sky. All nature ripens, decays, and dies. The end of one season, the beginning of another. The future stretches like a vast, blank page ahead of us. Sometimes, one has to be brave and sail with eyes almost squinted shut into the eastern sun. 

*unknown

**C. S. Lewis