After Reading Again Martin Buber's "I and Thou"

Article excerpt

I see my neighbor slowly leading a lame horse down a steep ridge behind my place: "Boge!" I call sharply (His real name is Harold). "Are you lost?" I ask in fun. He stops to wait, the horse bends to graze, and Boge's wire glasses glint in the sun. "No," he replies, "I came up here to care for this horse and dream a little." We pace the ridge together, near sunset, compare our views. Colors stretch across the hill as I follow horse and man down into a maze of young oaks. Around us the air is still, except for the distant drone of a towboat shoving loaded barges upriver. At the base of the hill we pause. October leaves float from a sycamore by a spring. "Do you dream along that ridge often?" I ask in a space between falling leaves. Boge, who's serene in his seventy-five years, thinks a while. …