The Wanderer 9 



on the grass, inhale its acid fragrance, note 

 the life that wriggles and scuttles beneath 

 it. If it is spring, see how the firstlings of 

 the year push through the earth, folded in 

 a spike to press the more subtly and safely, 

 some of them red and sober until they get 

 foothold, that animals who prey on vegeta- 

 tion may overlook them, some hiding be- 

 neath others. Plants when young have 

 frequent semblances to each other. They 

 are indeterminate because they want to 

 cheat the preying insect. Their primary 

 leaves give no hint of the completed plant. 

 When you first see jack-in-the-pulpit you 

 fancy that poison-ivy has put up spathes. 

 Then, look up. In early May the birch- 

 woods, seen towards the sun, show green 

 at its sweetest and most spiritual. The 

 palette does not contain this quality. 



Thus to rest between earth and sky, the 

 sun ninety-three million miles over your 

 head and warming it, eight thousand miles 

 of rock beneath you, and life leaving dark- 

 ness to meet the sun, is to be yourself 

 penetrated by the vital currents that shape 

 creation out of chaos. Blood starts quicker 



