Walden, oh Walden, where are you? I seek a pond to contemplate upon, yet the searching is done in my mind. Walking or driving to the water is not a consideration when one is leading a life of quiet desperation. Was Henry David Thoreau depressed? Did he isolate at that pond until he discovered St. John's Wart growing in the trees near his handmade cabin? I am only at the first chapter and do not know. I need a pond to reflect my image back to me, one that is kind of murky, muddy and vague, for right now.
I read on.
"What old people say you cannot do, you try and find that you can."
It is not only the old people that are the naysayers. They join all the other voices in my head, young, middle age, dead people, old teachers, and school bullies. Well, at the end, the sentence says that you need only try and find that you can. So I try. I find that I can.
No comments:
Post a Comment