I went into the woods because I wished to live deliberately. Perhaps. Again, with conviction. I went into the woods because I wished to watch my footsteps disappear each morning as the sun burned away the dew. Again, more forcefully. I went into the woods and I cut down trees and I wished to claim this land is my land, and as the summer sun rose high above, the trees grew ever thicker around me, pushing me out, away from the forest, towards the town. Again. I went into the woods because I wished to be known, to be seen, even if only by the rabbits, and the summer was dry and I lit my pipe and the match started a flame that burned and burned and now I am known and will never be forgotten.
Blink. I wished to live deliberately. I wished to be eternal. I wished to exist in your grandfather's mind and your mind and your granddaughter's mind, where deliberate words are all that remain when the landscape has been washed away and nothing else exists. Nothing. Nothing.