it is a life in slow motion,
it’s the heart in reverse,
it’s hope-and-a-half: too much and too little at once.
it’s a train that suddenly stops
with no station around,
and we can hear the cricket,
and, leaning out the carriage door,
we vainly contemplate
a wind we feel that stirs the blooming meadows,
the meadows
made imaginary by this stop
-Rainer Maria Rilke
