And now John Berger gone. Who’s had more power and sway over my grown mind than any other. A whole man, upstanding.
This from his essay on the Chauvet Cave:
We have no word for this darkness. It is not night and it is not ignorance. From time to time we all cross this darkness, seeing everything: so much everything that we can distinguish nothing. You know it, Marisa, better than I. It’s the interior from which everything came.
The meaning there is, nothing is lost. And yet what a loss.
His love for the world shone in the care of the balance of each syllable.
Not a word he wrote was not about, in, and of, intimacy.
the art of compost 
Every book, every essay, every conversation is worth looking at again. A moral and humane compass.
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Damn straight.
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