Survival is that which every refugee, every immigrant, and every bird strives for. We seek refuge from the cold, from war, and fear. Someplace safe, perhaps the corner of a temporary and feeble house, suspended as if in a cocoon, between leaving and staying. A restless sleep in not so familiar arms, and not so secure. A shelter that both shields the body and lays it bare. There, where a lair, a den, a shell perhaps, becomes the only refuge.