|Photo: Ansel Adams|
The sun shines not on us but in us.
The rivers flow not past, but through us.
Thrilling, tingling, vibrating every fiber and cell of the
substance of our bodies, making them glide and sing.
The trees wave and the flowers bloom in our bodies
as well as our souls, and every bird song, wind song,
and tremendous storm song of the rocks
in the heart of the mountains is our song,
our very own, and sings our love.
- John Muir