Just finished reading this book.  It was quite slow going but had some beautiful description in it.

“Till we noticed a motionless figure lying in the shade cast on the lawn by a lofty cedar in the southwest corner of the garden.  It was an old man, his head propped on his arm, and he seemed altogether absorbed in contemplation of the patch of earth immediately before his eyes.  We crossed the lawn towards him, every step wonderfully light on the grass….I was counting blades of grass, he said, by way of apology for his absentmindedness”

Maybe we should count blades of grass more often?