I learn by going where I have to go.
Over every mountain there is a path, although it may not be seen from the valley.
The soul has many motions, body one.
And I walked, I walked through the light air; I moved with the morning.
And what a congress of stinks!- Roots ripe as old bait, Pulpy stems, rank, silo-rich, Leaf mold, manure, lime, piled against slippery planks, Nothing would give up life: Even the dirt kept breathing a small breath.
The visible exhausts me. I am dissolved in shadow.