There is a feeling I look for, at some time, every summer here. There are moments out on the hills when nothing moves, and there is no sound. When the sun burns down out of a sky that’s almost white, it’s 40º in the shade- not that there is much shade- and the air is so completely still that the odd bushes and blades of corn look painted on the background. When the rabbits are hiding in the ground, the birds have gone to find a leafier place to keep cool, the insects are buried and quiet, and the whole world, dry, rocky, barren, empty as it is, is mine. Nobody else wants it then, and I could be alone in the world. It has to be at a high point on the land, where you can command a distant horizon, and know that everything you see for miles around you is silent and empty.
When such a moment coincides with feeling physically strong, untired by the effort behind me and undaunted by the miles ahead, confident and optimistic, the only living creature that wants to be there, it is all mine.
The road is life, and this is one of the things that make the road worth walking.