A Walk

My eyes already touch the sunny hill, going far ahead of the road I have begun. So we are grasped by what we cannot grasp; it has its inner light, even from a distance—

and changes us, even if we do not reach it, into something else, which, hardly sensing it, we already are; a gesture waves us on, answering our own wave . . . 

but what we feel is the wind in our faces.

Muzot, March 1924

                                                                                       Rainer Maria Rilke

                                                                                       translated by R.B.

 

 

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