At First Blush I Am Tempted To

Like Winds And Sunsets, Wild Things Were Taken For Granted Until Progress Began To Do Away With Them

We Console Ourselves With The Comfortable Fallacy That A Single Museum Piece Will Do, Ignoring The Clear Dictum Of History That A Species Must Be Saved In Many Places If It Is To Be Saved At All.

Relegating Grizzlies To Alaska Is About Like Relegating Happiness Heaven; One May Never Get There.

The Wind That Makes Music In November Corn Is In A Hurry. The Stalks Hum, The Loose Husks Whisk Skyward In Half-playing Swirls, And The Wind Hurries On.... A Tree Tries To Argue, Bare Limbs Waving, But There Is No Detaining The Wind.

Do We Realize That Industry, Which Has Been Our Good Servant, Might Make A Poor Master?