He took a
walk in the wood.
His first
for too long.
Light shone
through the trees
And hit him hard.
Nature’s
charms had been wiped out
By his city-fixations...
That
ceaseless desire to get somewhere; to achieve something.
And all the
while this little wood
- With its
hundred gifts -
Didn't
search for anything.
Didn't need
anything.
It just was
what it was.
He, in
violent opposition,
Was outside
the wood's endless present -
Its
indefinite nows.
His dog,
too, knew what to look for.
He no longer
knew.
The wood
gave him nothing concrete.
He felt
anxious in its atomic moments.
In its
present tense
And in its
natural sense -
The
haecceities which escaped
His
categorising mind.
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