Shall I in my heart say I am a wanderer with no steady home, a hobo living under bridges? Or shall I say I am a lonely bird, waiting for wings?

It is one of life’s mysteries that when I wander I gather the things of the earth, the wind on my face, the ground under my feet, the shadows in the trees and it makes me whole.

I ask the stars to cover me and the moon to hold my hand, I ask the sun to light my way and show me the world in different lights.

• Carl Sandburg