I begin each day with a solitary early morning walk
on the beach, during which I am often the only
person in sight. I step on tide-washed sand and run
my eye along the blue-gray eastern horizon between sea and
sky. If I slice this line into segments, each appears
to be straight, but the sweep of the whole curves
to render the world perceptibly round. Just so, an individual
life can appear to be isolated and without purpose unless
recognized as contributing to lives that precede it and follow
it, endowing each human span with completeness and rich universality.
Paraphrases from Turn: The Journal of an Artist by Anne Truitt.