I lingered round them, under that benign sky; watched the moths fluttering among the heath and hare-bells; listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass; and wondered how anyone could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth.

In traditional societies, nature was seen as one’s wife, but the modern West turned it into a prostitute.

Peering down into the water where the morning sun fashioned wheels of light, coronets fanwise in which lay trapped each twig, each grain of sediment, long flakes and blades of light in the dusty water sliding away like optic strobes where motes sifted and spun.

We enter solitude, in which also we lose loneliness. True solitude is found in the wild places, where one is without human obligation. One’s inner voices become audible. One feels the attraction of one’s most intimate sources. In consequence, one responds more clearly to other lives. The more coherent one becomes within oneself as a creature, the more fully one enters into the communion of all creatures.

Over the land freckled with snow half-thawed_x000D_ _x000D_ The speculating rooks at their nests cawed_x000D_ _x000D_ And saw from elm tops, delicate as flower of grass,_x000D_ _x000D_ What we below could not see, Winter pass.

When you have an intense contact of love with nature or another human being, like a spark, then you understand that there is no time and that everything is eternal.