January 16
Lying in the grass, feeling the earth and the sun, my soul widened into the pure present — an existence deeper than all time.
The Story of My Heart (freely rendered)
The Hand in the Cigarette's Glow
Lying in the grass, feeling the earth and the sun, my soul widened into the pure present — an existence deeper than all time.
In a hollow among the pines, Robert Louis Stevenson made his camp for the night. Modestine the donkey was given her feed. He ate, closed his sleeping bag and fell asleep at sunset.
In the night he was woken by thirst. He drank from his cup and rolled a cigarette. Modestine walked in a circle, as far as her tether allowed, and grazed. Apart from that, there was only the sound of water between the stones. With each draw, his hand lit up for a moment.
He looked at the sky between the treetops. Content as he was, he wished for someone beside him, quiet and within reach. Then, from the valley, he heard someone singing as they passed along the road. The voice came up through the pines to him.
