What Is Beautiful Is Good, And Who

My Garden All Is Overblown With Roses,/ My Spirit All Is Overblown With Rhyme.

Autumn In Felted Slipper Shuffles On, Muted Yet Fiery.--vita Sackville-west

It Is Necessary To Write, If The Days Are Not To Slip Emptily By. How Else, Indeed, To Clap The Net Over The Butterfly Of The Moment?

The Shortest Day Has Passed, And Whatever Nastiness Of Weather We May Look Forward To In January And February, At Least We Notice That The Days Are Getting Longer. Minute By Minute They Lengthen Out. It Takes Some Weeks Before We Become Aware Of The Change. It Is Imperceptible Even As The Growth Of A Child, As You Watch It Day By Day, Until The Moment Comes When With A Start Of Delighted Surprise We Realize That We Can Stay Out Of Doors In A Twilight Lasting For Another Quarter Of A Precious Hour.

Click, Clack, Click, Clack, Went Their Conversation, Like So Many Knitting-needles, Purl, Plain, Purl, Plain, Achieving A Complex Pattern Of References, Cross-references, Christian Names, Nicknames, And Fleeting Allusions.