". . .
As I spoke, beneath my feet
The ground pine curled it's pretty wreath,
Running over the club-moss burrs;
I inhaled the violet's breath;
Around me stood the oaks and firs;
Pine-cones and acorns lay on the ground;
Over me soared the eternal sky,
Full of light and of deity;
Again I saw, again I heard,
The rolling river, the morning bird;
Beauty through my senses stole;
I yielded myself to the perfect whole."
R.W. Emerson
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Certainly, travel is more than the seeing of sights; it is a change that goes on, deep and permanent, in the ideas of living. ~Miriam Beard
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