My eyes already touch the sunny hill
going far ahead of the road I have begun
So we are grasped by what we cannot grasp, it
has inner light, even from a distance and
changes us, even if we do not reach it, into something,
else, which, hardly sensing it, we already are,
a gesture waves us on answering our wave...
but what we feel is the wind in our faces.
Walk Poem, Rainer Maria Rilke, trans, Robert Bly
