Gwen Lowenheim asked me to post this excerpt of a poem by Wallace Stevens that she read in a paper by Stephen Nachmanovitch. There’s some wisdom here.
On the Road Home
by Wallace Stevens
It was when I said,
“There is no such thing as the truth,”
That the grapes seemed fatter.
The fox ran out of his hole…
It was at that time, that the silence was largest
And longest, the night was roundest,
The fragrance of the autumn warmest,
Closest and strongest.