From Hudson…

An excerpt from WH Hudson’s “Idle Days in Patagonia” which seems to suit my September mood, and anticipates October, and reminds me of movement over landscape.

“If things had gone well with me, if I had spent my twelve months on the Rio Negro, as I had meant to do, watching and listening to the birds of that district, these desultory chapters, which might be described as a record of what I did not do, would never have been written… seeing one class of objects too well would have made all others look distant, obscure. Lying helpless on my back… with the white-washed walls of my room for landscape and horizon, and a score or two of buzzing house-flies, perpetually engaged in their intricate airy dance, for only company, I was forced to think on a great variety of subjects, and to occupy my mind with other problems than that of migration. These other problems, too, were in many ways like the flies that shared my apartment, and yet always remained strangers to me, as I to them, since between their minds and mine a great gulf was fixed. Small unpainful riddles of the earth; flitting, sylph-like things, that began life as abstractions, and developed, like imago from maggot, into entities: I always flitted among them, as they performed their mazy dance…

I caught nothing, and found out nothing…

Our waking life is sometimes like a dream, which proceeds logically enough until the stimulus of some new sensation, from without or within, throws it into temporary confusion, or suspends its action; after which it goes again, but with fresh characters, passions, and motives, and a changed argument.”

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~ by maiapatagonia on September 11, 2009.

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