Over every mountain there is a path, although it may not be seen from the valley.
I learn by going where I have to go.
The soul has many motions, body one.
The darkness has it's own light.
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.
Art is the means we have of undoing the damage of haste. It's what everything else isn't.