"The mud clings to my shoes, muffling my footsteps, and I wipe off only a bit. It leaves a greasy residue on my fingers, but I'm in no hurry to rinse away the rich organic sediment trapped under my fingernails. It's the antithesis of my studies, an immersion in a life of the mind that encourages withdrawal from all that is physical. Surrounded by the library's marble walls, carefully modulated temperatures, and fluorescent lights, I don't know whether it is midwinter or midsummer outside, midnight or dawn. This vacuum can breed a certain arrogance: it suggests that we, with our superior intellects, have managed to transcend the dictates of the material world. The cemetery mud reminds me otherwise. This sediment- formed in part, almost certainly, from the decomposed remains of america's great intellectuals buried on the hillsides- is evidence of inescapable grounding in a natural order still beyond human control."
A place for all seasons- christine delucia
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