Walking the World

If I could not have mountains or sea as a view from my window in old age, I would choose the sight of a road vanishing round a corner in woods, or disappearing over a pass of the hills. And it would need to be a road with a surface soft enough to show ruts and footmarks, and on it a homely plop of dung, and a few puddles to reflect the stars. What pleasure is there in the contemplation of a tarmac road, with nothing significant on it but white stripes and blobs of dirty oil?
Driftwood and Tangle p183.
Margaret Leigh