They say begin with some great poetry.
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I grow old … I grow old …
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shall wear the bottoms of my trousers
rolled.
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The Love Song of
J. Alfred Prufrock –T,S, Elliot
The woods decay, the woods decay and fall,
The vapours weep their burthen to the
ground,
Man comes and tills the field and lies
beneath,
And after many a summer dies the swan.
Me only cruel immortality
Consumes: I wither slowly in thine arms
Tithonus By Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Those two poems have always meant a great deal to
me. But I suppose in this instant world very few will take the time to find out
why they have been important to me, The disposable age of information.
I am simple to find, though no one will make that
journey.
Just travel to Surprise.
Then leave west into the setting Sun.
Keep the mountains on your left,
Carefully make your way through the cacti and the
desert bushes,
When you find green in the desert,
And water flowing over the land,
I am near, ever near.
I may be taking one of my walks.
A desert creature.
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