In many ways, we are strangers
As a housefly is a flicker to us, we are a flicker to so much more.
We are a puff of warm air, indeed.
The thing you have ask yourself is if you can swallow the implications of this.
Although this passage is about trees, it reminds me of this passage on mountains.
For the trees, after all, stand silent too.
Trees are tough. They last, taproot and bark, and we soften at their feet. “For we are strangers before thee, and sojourners, as were all our fathers: our days on the earth are as a shadow, and there is none abiding.” We can’t take the lightning, the scourge of high places and rare airs. But we can take the light, the reflected light that shines up the valleys on creeks. Trees stir memories; live waters heal them.
-Annie Dillard, Pilgrim At Tinker Creek