“I had expectations. Actually, I wouldn’t call them expectations, but more like guesses, and assumptions of how things would be like in the trip. I thought I would read the books I brought and write in my journal the entire time. I was wrong in that guess. I stared out the window most of the time, looking, no, viewing the landscapes and sceneries that were place before me. Altogether, what I saw was a mixture of the same things: grass, farms, farm animals, mountains, hills, valleys, clear blue skies, trucks, different plate numbers from all over the states, some lakes and rivers, the longest trains I’ve seen, and trees.”
Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers today;
And give us not to think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
All simply in the springing of the year.
Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white,
Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;
And make us happy in the happy bees,
The swarm dilating round the perfect trees.
And make us happy in the darting bird
That suddenly above the bees is heard,
The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill,
And off a blossom in mid air stands still.
For this is love and nothing else is love,
The which it is reserved for God above
To sanctify to what far ends He will,
But which it only needs that we fulfil.