Each day he walks the hill and never tires
of its line against the roiling depth of light,
never well but when he and his thoughts
do domineer in privacy. Away from the house,
away from the engines that interrupt dreams,
away from the screens that eat consciousness,
he seeks out always the hill against the sky,
and is invited once again to be what he is.
—with a line from Robert Burton's "Anatomy of Melancholy," 1621.
