"I celebrate myself, and sing myself,/And what I assume you shall assume,/For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.//I loafe and invite my soul,/I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass."
Thursday, June 18, 2009
The amount of water in the world is finite, they say, and most of it is ocean. The rest seems to have been falling on us. Enough already.