"The passing of the past is something else than what has been."

The mountains sensed I was leaving. Unlike me, they couldn't
pack up and go: their movement is glacial, imperceptible. And
the geese stopped floating long enough to say: Tweet hello to
us, as soon we too be heading north.

Lastly, I bowed to Old Stony Face, who'd taught me God, life,
death, politics, the beautiful, art itself, perceptual consciousness is
more than I can imagine what will someday take our place.