I Start With A Tingle, A Kind

It Is Not A Bad Thing In A Tale That You Understand Only Half Of It.

It Is A Sad Hardship And Slavery To People Who Live In Towns, That In Their Movements They Know Of One Dimension Only; They Walk Along The Line As If They Were Led On A String. The Transition From The Line To The Plane Into The Two Dimensions, When You Wander Across A Field Or Through A Wood, Is A Splendid Liberation To The Slaves, Like The French Revolution. But In The Air You Are Taken Into The Full Freedom Of The Three Dimensions; After Long Ages Of Exile And Dreams The Homesick Heart Throws Itself Into The Arms Of Space.

Nobody Has Seen The Trekking Birds Take Their Way Towards Such Warmer Spheres As Do Not Exist, Or Rivers Break Their Course Through Rocks And Plains To Run Into An Ocean Which Is Not To Be Found. For God Does Not Create A Longing Or A Hope Without Having A Fulfilling Reality Ready For Them. But Our Longing Is Our Pledge, And Blessed Are The Homesick, For They Shall Come Home.

It Is Impossible That A Town Will Not Play A Part In Your Life, It Does Not Even Make Much Difference Whether You Have More Good Or Bad Things To Say Of It, It Draws Your Mind To It, By A Mental Law Of Gravitation.

It's An Odd Feeling-farewell-there Is Some Envy In It. Men Go Off To Be Tested For Courage And If We're Tested At All, It's For Patience, For Doing Without, For How Well We Can Endure Loneliness.