By daily dying, I have come to be.

I'm sure I've been a toad, one time or another. With bats, weasels, worms...I rejoice in the kinship. Even the caterpillar I can love, and the various vermin.

How terrible the need for God.

I long for the imperishable quiet at the heart of form.

The fields stretch out in long unbroken rows. We walk aware of what is far and close. Here distance is familiar as a friend. The feud we kept with space comes to an end.

And I walked, I walked through the light air; I moved with the morning.

A mind too active is no mind at all.