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.
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Paraphrases from Turn: The Journal of an Artist by Anne Truitt.

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