Be Careful That You Do Not Write

Indian Art Broadened My Seeing, Loosened The Formal Tightness I Had Learned In England's Schools. Its Bigness And Stark Reality Baffled My White Man's Understanding... I Had Been Schooled To See Outsides Only, Not Struggle To Pierce.

I Thought My Mountain Was Coming This Morning. It Was Near To Speaking When Suddenly It Shifted, Sulked, And Returned To Smallness. It Has Eluded Me Again And Sits There, Puny And Dull. Why?

The Earth Is Soaked And Soggy With Rain. Everything Is Drinking Its Fill And The Surplus Gluts The Drains. The Sky Is Full Of It And Lies Low Over The Earth, Heavy And Dense. Even The Sea Is Wetter Than Usual!

The Liveness In Me Just Loves To Feel The Liveness In Growing Things, In Grass And Rain And Leaves And Flowers And Sun And Feathers And Furs And Earth And Sand And Moss.

I Sat Staring, Staring, Staring - Half Lost, Learning A New Language Or Rather The Same Language In A Different Dialect.