If “Busy filleth empty,” then the stillness of sunrise affords a proper contrast. But how will I see sunrise with so much memory? If the crush of words fevers the brain, then for that day there is no bridge to light. If I fall asleep or am noisy with the turbulence of crowds, then the wonder of life fades as a forgotten dream of long ago.
“We let ourselves become encased in a sort of dull hard shell of everydayness through which it is hard for the gift of wonder to penetrate.”
— Leaves from a Secret Journal, Jane Steger