We'd been talking about the limits of our resolve, and I admitted that sometimes I resent my own life. Of course my resentment always turns to longing, I said, and I'm filled with the wonder of my existence. Then I think about death, how it offends me, and how I love this life so much I could die of it, and my resentment begins again. While we spoke, a hummingbird hovered above the stream; how hard they both worked, moving constantly just to stay in place.
-- Gary Young, from Pleasure