He was standing in an old road, rutted and ancient, that wound up a black hill towards the sky, where a great flock of black birds was gathering. The birds were like black letters against the grey of the sky. He thought that in a moment he would understand what the writing meant. The stones in the ancient road were symbols foretelling the travelers journey.
09 August 2010
An Intellectual Life of Labor
One is not idle because one is absorbed. There is both visible and invisible labor. To contemplate is to toil. To think is to do.
No comments:
Post a Comment