In the swamp, in secluded recesses, A shy and hidden bird is warbling a song. Solitary, the thrush, The hermit, withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settlements, Sings by himself a song.

Alone far in the wilds and mountains I hunt, Wandering amazed at my own lightness and glee, In the late afternoon choosing a safe spot to pass the night, Kindling a fire and broiling the freshkilled game, Soundly falling asleep on the gathered leaves, my dog and gun by my side.

I think I will do nothing for a long time but listen, / And accrue what I hear into myself....and let sounds contribute / toward me.

I do not trouble my spirit to vindicate itself or be understood

If you are too busy to pray, you are busier than God wants you to be.

Life is full of disappointments, but we have to take some risks. None of us can predict the future, for only God knows what's to come.

Things don't always go the way we want. I've come to realize that some things just aren't meant to be.

And we pray, not for new earth or heaven, but to be quiet in heart, and in eye clear. What we need is here.

There comes . . . a longing never to travel again except on foot.

By then I wasn't just asking questions; I was being changed by them. I was being changed by my prayers, which dwindled down nearer and nearer to silence, which weren't confrontations with God but with the difficulty--in my own mind, or in the human lot--of knowing what or how to pray. Lying awake at night, I could feel myself being changed--into what, I had no idea.

Sabbath observance invites us to stop. It invites us to rest. It asks us to notice that while we rest, the world continues without our help. It invites us to delight in the world's beauty and abundance.

In solitude, we lose our loneliness.