Presence

And I have felt
A presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean, and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man,
A motion and a spirit, that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things

William Wordsworth
Lines composed a few miles above
Tintern Abbey – excerpt

Books, exercise, more books, wind-stirred flooded fields in wintry sunlight, puppet-theatre Alice in Wonderland in company with involved imaginations in grandchildren, cautious crossing of fords not there yesterday, round table, fine supper and fireside. His own home forty minutes from here, though in another age (and farther and longer then, by trap or on foot) – yet, aeolian voice upon the wind, across the fields and waters, I hear the poet say: “you too” …

And I have felt
A presence