July Mountain
We live in a constellation
Of patches and of pitches,
Not in a single world,
In things said well in music,
On the piano, and in speech,
As in a page of poetry --
Thinkers without final thoughts
In an always incipient cosmos,
The way, when we climb a mountain,
Vermont throws itself together.
Wallace Stevens, "Late Poems (1950-55)," Collected Poetry and Prose (Library of America 1997).
See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Going out in stormy weather
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