27 January 2014: When I got home this evening, my mind was on a work issue (nothing major--just persistently annoying) and I felt distracted and tense. As I walked back towards the house from the mailbox, I happened to look up and found myself thinking of some lines from one of my favorite
Whitman poems:
"..How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick,
Till rising and gliding out I wander’d off by myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,
Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars."
Suddenly, everything seemed better.
1 comment:
Good one. I'm really enjoying your thankfuls.
Post a Comment