From SONG OF MYSELF by Walt Whitman
The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the distillation, it is odorless,It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it,I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked,I am mad for it to be in contact with me.The smoke of my own breath,Echoes, ripples, buzz’d whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine,My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing of blood and air through my lungs,The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and dark-color’d sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn,The sound of the belch’d words of my voice loos’d to the eddies of the wind,A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms,The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple bows wag,The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields and hill-sides,The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising from bed and meeting the sun.
REST DAY! We stayed at the beautiful spot all day, resting, reading, napping and eating. I rode my bike a total of two miles to get water at the local campsite. Turns out our site was the property of a mining organization called the Bohemia Mining Group. We could camp there but could not take gold from the creek! It was really perfect and allowed our legs to get prepared for the next day.
Doing some heavy work -- reading.
The swimming hole
Clear, clear restorative waters!
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