My First Summer in the Sierra

by John Muir

Like most other things not apparently useful to man, it has few friends, and the blind question, "Why was it made?" goes on and on with never a guess that first of all it might have been made for itself.

Having escaped restraint, they were, like some people we know of, afraid of their freedom, did not know what to do with it, and seemed glad to get back into the old familiar bondage.

God himself seems to be always doing his best here, working like a man in a glow of enthusiasm.

Such souls, I suppose, are asleep, or smothered and befogged beneath mean pleasures and cares.