Felling A Tree And Gazing At The

Seek On High Bare Trails Sky-reflecting Violets... Mountain-top Jewels

Sadly, I Part From You; Like A Clam Torn From Its Shell, I Go, And Autumn Too.

The Desire To Break The Silence With Constant Human Noise Is, I Believe, Precisely An Avoidance Of The Sacred Terror Of That Divine Encounter.

Come, Butterfly It's Late- We've Miles To Go Together.

Winter Garden, The Moon Thinned To A Thread, Insects Singing.