Wednesday, September 28


I wrapped my hands around the steaming mug and gazed at the radiant land. Grasses and pines, ground squirrels and hawks, the very rocks seemed to be bursting with energy. The sight made my pulse rise until I could feel the pressure in my throat. At the top of a clean page in my pocket notebook I wrote "Sources of Hope," and on the line below I wrote "Wildness." The word was a clumsy label for the power I felt in that place and in my hammering heart. Had you asked me to explain it, I could only have pointed.

-- Scott Russell Sanders Hunting for Hope