The Book of Pilgrimage, II, 22
By Rainer Maria Rilke
Translated by Anita Barrows
You are the future,
the red sky before sunrise
over the fields of time.
You are the cock's crow when night is done,
You are the dew and the bells of matins,
maiden, stranger, mother, death.
You create yourself in ever-changing shapes
that rise from the stuff of our days --
unsung, unmourned, undescribed,
like a forest we never knew.
You are the deep innerness of all things,
the last word that can never be spoken.
To each of us you reveal yourself differently:
to the ship as coastline, to the shore as a ship.
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I feel reasonably accomplished tonight because I have finished all my trip laundry, saw
For the first time since right after I got my journal in 2002, I have a new layout! I wanted to switch to S2 so that I could use tags and also to keep my sidebar content. Many thanks to

And thanks to the wonderful
A bobcat demonstrates that cats will be cats, even wild ones.
Here's a llama, there's a llama, and another little llama...
Flamingoes show off their absurd sleeping positions.
Cranky warm rhea.
While one otter lounges on a raft, the other goes for a swim.
A pelican in the waterfowl lake.
Prairie dogs brave the heat to retrieve their lunch.