There are worlds, unwieldy, dreadful,
Difficult to grasp, just pick one up
And it grasps you, its grip of iron;
And there are sights, brochure-loads,
Wonders ancient and otherwise, but look
Too close and blur becomes confusion;
People, and they shrink from cultivation,
Beat retreats, facts, and the more you know
Of each the less you’ll want to hang
On any, comes time for feet to dangle in the sky
While windswept clouds make blotchy patterns,
Gussy up some valley floor many feet below …
Patterns, yes, and the multiples thereof,
But they must come to you, haply
As rays picking up earth’s gravitation,
Must find you staring into space, puttering
In the yard, out walking, aimless and amazed.
The unwasted life has not been lived.
—George Bradley, “Walking Philosophy”
Art Credit Allison Diaz
