The greatest gift of life on the mountain is time.
Time to think or not think, read or not read,
scribble or not scribble – to sleep and cook and walk
in the woods, to sit and stare at the shape of the hills.
I produce nothing but words; I consume nothing
but food, a little propane, a little firewood. By being
utterly useless in the calculations of the culture
at large, I become, at last, useful to myself.
~ Philip Connors
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