" Sometimes the desire to be lost again, as long ago, comes over me like a
vapor. With growth into adulthood, responsibilities claimed me, so many
heavy coats. I didn’t choose them, I don’t fault them, but it took time to
reject them. Now in the spring I kneel, I put my face into the packets of
violets, the dampness, the freshness, the sense of ever-ness. Something is
wrong, I know it, if I don’t keep my attention on eternity. May I be the
tiniest nail in the house of the universe, tiny but useful. May I stay forever
in the stream. May I look down upon the windflower and the bull thistle and
the coreopsis with the greatest respect. "

― Mary Oliver , Upstream: Selected Essays