There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem
Apparelled in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it hath been of yore;--
The other day I was sitting at a stop light and I noticed a tall pine tree by itself on the corner. It was so tall and straight, and its bark was so distinctive that I really focused on it for a few seconds. I thought how odd that something so beautiful would be in front of a junky car repair shop near a chain-link fence. It was a stalwart tower of the forest and should be on the edge of a meadow near a stream; the discards of modern life were too prosaic to be near poetry. Then I realized I had become one of those annoying people who don't watch the light every moment in order to go the identical second it turns green. It had already changed, and I needed to be an adult.
--But there's a tree, of many, one,
A single Field which I have looked upon,
Both of them speak of something that is gone:
The Pansy at my feet
Doth the same tale repeat:
Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
(Poetry quotes from Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood by William Wordsworth. Sentimental drivel provided by Yours Truly. I seem to be going through a foofy romantic stage. I understand these things pass if you just ignore them. But hey, it's kinda fun. ;o)