My First Summer in the Sierra

The myriad components of this universe may be seen as varying expressions of one grand intelligence, an intelligence itself perhaps still evolving and ripening. No part is greater or lesser than another, or better or worse. Each is indispensable as long as it is needed, and plays its part in the great drama, whether star, waterfall, or blade of grass, elephant, bird, man, or mold. This includes the universe itself, which may well be one of many universes, or a grateful, shining mirror of thousands. There are so many fables and legends — why not, like the birds, sing them all, even those long since forgotten, and let them all stand? Now it grows dark. It is about to rain again.

May 4, 2020. Evening. Finished reading John Muir’s My First Summer in the Sierra.

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