The best time is late afternoon when the sun strobes through the columns of trees as you are hiking up,and when you find an agreeable rock to sit on,you will be able to see the light pouring down into the woods and breaking into the shapes and tones of things and you will hear nothing but a sprig of birdsong or the leafy falling of a cone or nut through the trees, and if this is your day you might even spot a hare or feel the wing-beats of geese driving overhead toward some destination. But it is hard to speak of these things how the voices of light enter the body and begin to recite their stories how the earth holds us painfully against its breast made of humus and brambles how we who will soon be gone regard the entities that continue to return greener than ever, spring water flowing through a meadow and the shadows of clouds passing over the hills and the ground where we stand in the tremble of thought taking the vast outside into ourselves.
~ Billy Collins
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