Returning to Myself

Men on small islands would do well to avoid the pursuit of philosophy.  The island illusion, that solitude and wisdom invented each other, is a very convincing one.  Day by day I seem to grow more profound.  Often I feel I am on the verge of some great philosophical discovery.  Man.  War.  Truth.  Time.  Fortunately I always return to myself.  I look beyond the white lace of the surf to my own unassembled past and I decide to let others stitch together the systems.  I enjoy the triteness of the situation, man and island, exile in the ultimate suburb.  The surf is massing and rolling, uneven now, page after page of terrible wild words.  All the colors borrow, sea from beach from sky, and after a while I follow my own foot prints back to the house.

-Don DeLillo, Americana

Glacier National Park