Pause a moment. Remember a favorite poem. Let it roll around in your mouth, tickle your heart. Let me lend you one of mine.

To look
at any thing,
If you would know that thing,
You must look at it long:
To look at this green and say
‘I have seen spring in these
Woods,’ will not do — you must
Be the thing you see:
You must be the dark snakes of
Stems and ferny plumes of leaves,
You must enter in
To the small silences between
The leaves,
You must take your time
And touch the very peace
They issue from.

by John Moffitt