September is gone. October, begun. The first day of each month is like beginning anew. Turning a new leaf, strumming a new song. I read a poem, by a poet named Wordsworth, today. Quite outdated, but not really. The lines in one of his poems rang a bell, for me. He wrote,
Up the brook
I roamed in the confusion of my heart,
Alive to all things and forgetting all.
… I gazed and gazed, and to myself
I said, ‘Our thoughts at least are ours.
Wordsworth, from “Poems on the Naming of Places”
‘The confusion of my heart, alive to all, forgetting all. “Our thoughts at least are ours”,’ describe the freedom I feel outdoors, and it dawned on me, why it is that I love rivers, streams, lakes, and the sound of water, so. In places like these, I meditate, without even knowing, and feel at peace. Out there, I am not alone.