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
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