Being stuck here at my parents’ house due to the snow has forced me to slow down, having nowhere to go and nothing that must be done.
And my attention was brought to this sonnet, and I find solace in its lines. As writers, we must learn to slow down and take note of the world around us, and not get caught up in the lack of stores to shop in, movies to go and see, or parties to attend.
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not.–Great God! I’d rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.
William Wordsworth
