summit of the hill. In the rush and roar of the stormy wind the
same exaltation, the same desire, lifted me for a moment. I went there every
morning, I could not exactly define why; it was like going to a rose bush to
taste the scent of the flower and feel the dew from its petals on the lips.
But I desired the beauty--the inner subtle meaning--to be in me, that I
might have it, and with it an existence of a higher kind.

Later on I began to have daily pilgrimages to think these things. There was
a feeling that I must go somewhere, and be alone. It was a necessity to have
a few minutes of this separate life every day; my mind required to live its
own life apart from other things. A great oak at a short distance was one
resort, and sitting on the grass at the roots, or leaning against the trunk
and looking over the quiet meadows towards the bright southern sky, I could
live my own life a little while. Behind the trunk I was alone; I liked to
lean against it; to touch the lichenon the rough bark. High in the wood of
branches the birds were not alarmed; they sang, or called, and passed to and
fro happily. The wind moved the leaves, and they replied to it softly; and
now at this distance of time I can see the fragments of sky up through the
boughs. Bees were always humming in the green field; ring-doves went over
swiftly, flying for the woods.

Of the sun I was conscious; I could not look at it, but the boughs held back
the beams so that I could feel the sun's
presence pleasantly. They shaded the sun, yet let me know that
it was there. There came to me a delicate, but at the same time
a deep, strong, and sensuous enjoyment of the beautiful green
earth, the beautiful sky and sun; I felt them, they gave me
inexpressible delight, as if they embraced and poured out their love upon
me. It was I who loved them, for my heart was broader than the earth; it is
broader now than even then, more thirsty and desirous. After the sensuous