Truro, the Blueberry Fields

Not far from where I start to gather the ripened berries

I begin, as usual, to slow down. Then, pretty soon, I am

doing nothing. I am just sitting there in the little bundles

of leaves.

In the distance a sparrow is singing over and over his

serene and very simple song. Oh, to hear him within the

enclosure of nothing else!

Friend, I am becoming desperate. What shall I do? How

quickly, if I only knew by what remedy, I would turn

from the commotion of my own life.

While on and on and on, the sparrow sings.