Deep in the woods, I tried walking on all fours. I did it
for an hour or so, through thickets, across a field, down to a cranberry bog. I
don't think anyone saw me! At the end, I was exhausted and sore, but I had seen
the world from the level of the grasses, the first bursting growth of trees,
declivities, lumps, slopes, rivulets, gashes, open spaces. I was some slow old
fox, wandering, breathing, hitching along, lying down finally at the edge of
the bog, under the swirling rick-rack of the trees.
You must not ever stop being whimsical.
And you must not, ever, give anyone else the responsibility
for your life.
Mary Oliver
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