All this (I sweep my hands out in front of me) that I ostend, these Prussian meadows with their red poppies, with their pale caducous calyxes, the black firs rumbling from the sea winds, my feet on the gravel of the path (I am always careful not to sunder the lengthened warming worm-bodies scattered here and there) and the Glückskatze twitching its tail in an old farmhouse window, all this I normally see through Heraclitean eyes, but I suspect the truth is that the world is hard, static, ἀδάμαστος. (July 1910)
Meingast on Vacation
