The Leaves Fall, The Wind Blows, And

If Gardeners Will Forget A Little The Phrase, "watering The Plants" And Think Of Watering As A Matter Of "watering The Earth" Under The Plants, Keeping Up Its Moisture Content And Gauging Its Need, The Garden Will Get On Very Well.

Into Every Empty Corner, Into All Forgotten Things And Nooks, Nature Struggles To Pour Life, Pouring Life Into The Dead, Life Into Life Itself.

I Am Glad That The Country World...retains A Power To Use Our English Tongue. It Is A Part Of Its Sense Of Reality, Of Its Vocabulary Of Definite Terms, And Of Its Habit Of Earthly Common Sense. I Find This Country Writing An Excellent Corrective Of The Urban Vocabulary Of Abstractions And Of The Emotion Disguised As Thinking Which Abstractions And Humbug Have Loosed Upon The World. May There Always Be Such Things As A Door, A Milk Pail, And A Loaf Of Bread, And Words To Do Them Honor.

For A Moment Of Night We Have A Glimpse Of Ourselves And Of Our World Islanded In A Stream Of Stars - Pilgrims Of Mortality, Voyaging Between Horizons Across The Eternal Seas Of Space And Time.

It Is Only When We Are Aware Of The Earth And Of The Earth As Poetry That We Truly Live.