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[Page 128]

7
I enter the wood, and wanter some distance in till I find a tree more aged tan the rest, and larger, its rugged butt green with moss.

It seems good to rest upon the sweetness of the fallen needles there with my back against the mossy butt.

Seated in this wood alone I am not lonely

I am strangely befriended by all that is round me.

Almost there is intense silence. A silence which seems to dream

There is stillness

Stillness, which holds, as it were the very breath of movement

Stillness so perfect it pictures silence, and make silence absolute and local

The little which is not of silence is remote

There is no stirring of the air

There is stillness

Profound stillness

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