Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare sieze the fire?
The fires of the Northwest are many. Great or small; real or imagined, external, internal, and otherworldly.
We must tend to them.
We are in Twin Peaks, after all.