There is a second in every day that, found, can never be quantified and lost, can never be discovered by those prowling, precise watch-fiends.
I have searched in the dells and behind the trees of Brescia hill: here is a labyrinth-bathed tree from up whose gorgeously-mottled trunk falls diffuse illumination.
There is a second in every day blooming into a vastness beyond day.
Fall off the path of accustomed treadings.
Forsake known ways.
Wander into gemmed grasses.