GOING TO WALDEN It isn't very far as highways lie. I might be back by nightfall, having seen The rough pines, and the stones, and the clear water. Friends argue that I might be wiser for it. They do not hear that far-off Yankee whisper: How dull we grow from hurrying here and there! Many have gone, and think me half a fool To miss a day away in the cool country. Maybe. But in a book I read and cherish, Going to Walden is not so easy a thing As a green visit. It is the slow and difficult Trick of living, and finding it where you are.

And over one more set of hills, along the sea, the last roses have opened their factories of sweetness and are giving it back to the world. If I had another life I would want to spend it all on some unstinting happiness.

Still, what I want in my life is to be willing to be dazzled---to cast aside the weight of facts and maybe even to float a little above this difficult world.

... the natural world is the old river that runs through everything, and I think poets will forever fish along its shores.

it is a serious thing // just to be alive / on this fresh morning / in this broken world.

So come to the pond, or the river of your imagination, or the harbor of your longing, and put your lips to the world. And live your life.

I have a notion that if you are going to be spiritually curious, you better not get cluttered up with too many material things.