We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep, words from Shakespeare’s Tempest that will endure forever. Although, he might just as well have said, if less poetically, our little life is rounded with a breath, for so it is. Every breath is a metaphor of a life. At our birth, we breathe in, we inspire, and at our end, our death, we breathe out, we expire. One breath, one life. How can we make each one count? When we breathe in, when we inspire, we take in an atmosphere of our own making. We inspire because we are inspired, inspiration reflected in inspiration. We can breathe into our consciousness all the data of our environment, in the city, every window, cloud, person, ledge, terrace, cornice, and gargoyle.  I stop wherever I am and take it in. I don’t want connection to my environment so much as I want to be its part. My isolation and my problems dissolve, become laughable. No, I’ve not arrived at nothingness, but if oneness with my environment is a stop along the way, that suits me just fine. I find myself nourished, filled, and breathed. Stop today; take time to breathe in your environment. It will change everything.