After a cruel childhood, one must reinvent oneself. Then reimagine the world. - Mary Oliver

Understand from the first this certainty. Butterflies don’t write books, neither do lilies or violets. Which doesn’t mean they don’t know, in their own way, what they are. That they don’t know they are alive — that they don’t feel, that action upon which all consciousness sits, lightly or heavily. Humility is the prize of the leaf-world. Vainglory is the bane of us, the humans.

There are as many worlds as there are imaginers.
- The Boat (in “Winter Hours”)

What would the world be like without music or rivers or the green and tender grass? Would would this would be like without dogs?