The day has passed delightfully

  in wandering

  and noise

  and gloss

  and novel parasites.

The naturalist wandered

alone

His first time.

  To someone who is fond of natural history

  this is the deepest pleasure.

  He is fond.

He will not attempt to describe it.

The awe of the multitude

is a heavy cloak

hanging in the canopy

seeping into recesses.

Silence overcomes the insect drone.

The day passes in wandering

and delight

and fondness

and other weak terms.

The totality bears the victory.

But this is a discussion for later.

All that matters now is that some hours pass.

But not before he is overtaken

by the torrent.

* I found this lurking in one of my old notebooks. It’s based on an entry in Charles Darwin’s Voyage of the Beagle

  1. allthisprecioustime posted this