This sense of nature
Words cannot express this sense of nature and its abundant charm and there are very few who acquiring modern culture retain it. It is gradually disappearing from the world. Just as the old delicately sensuous, naive and picturesque type of beauty is. That perfection of naturalness is rapidly vanishing everywhere and being replaced by the part real and unreal attractiveness of technology, cleverness and fashion.
No doubt there is a trend to more forms of artificial pleasure but it is not without sacrifice. Those that have experienced the beauty of nature in their soul see it all vanishing. It will all be gone soon. I doubt it will be possible for the Wanderer to survive nor that his way of life can be preserved for future generations. In times to come when we have developed new senses there will doubtless be a new poetry. A new conformity that will arise and attempt to take away the very last degree of randomness and individuality with its cleverness and artificiality. Then the world will lament when they read of the ancient teal seas and how the sun went down across a beautiful, red, land and how the land was greened after the rain. The Wanderers of this land are the human types that demonstrate a direct love of nature and appreciate this mute sense of rural romance. And those who do not recognise it in the traveller despite their rags and different sense of property need not pretend to appreciate anything more about the naturalness of the land. They are but skilful managers. The Wanderer’s are but rags themselves, the last shreds of the old romance which connected man with nature. Once romance was a splendid drama coloured and gemmed. Now there remain only a few tatters. We are perishing. The retained fragments of our nomadic mythology and past vanishing with the swaggie; an unspoken mythology which those who are to come after us would gladly try to recover.