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f94a711
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The woods do that to you, they always look familiar, long lost, like the face of a long-dead relative, like an old dream, like a piece of forgotten song drifting across the water, most of all like golden eternities of past childhood or past manhood and all the living and the dying and the heartbreak that went on a million years ago and the clouds as they pass overhead seem to testify(by their own lonesome familiarity) to this feeling. Taip buna miskuose, jie visada atrodo pazistami, kadai prarasti, isbluke lyg seniai mirusio giminaicio veidas, tartum sena svajone, tarsi nuotrupa pamirstos dainos, plaukiancios virs vandens, o labiau uz viska - tarsi auksines praejusios vaikystes amzinybes ar preejusios brandos, ir visa, kas gyva, visa, kas mire, visa sirdgela, istikusi pries milijona metu, ir debesys, plaukiantys tau virs galvos, liudija savo vienisu artimumu si jausma.
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feelings-of-overwhelm
memories
reflections
woods
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Jack Kerouac |