Walk - R. M. Rilke
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.